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LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

RIVERSIDE

J

MISS ARMSTRONG'S
AND OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Per FERVID

The Great Men, and A Practical

Novelist

Baptist Lake

The Wonderful Mission of Earl
Lavender

A Random Itinerary

Plays

Ballads and Songs

Fleet Street Eclogues Tivo Series

MISS ARMSTRONG'S

AND OTHER

CIRCUMSTANCES

BY

JOHN DAVIDSON

METHUEN & CO.

36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.

LONDON

1896

For permission to reprint 'Some Poor Folic,' 'A Would-be
Londoner," 'An Ideal Shoeblack,' 'Among the Anarchists,'
and 'The Interregnum in Fairyland,' my tlianks are due to
the editors of the Glasgow Herald, the Speaker, and Good
Words. ' Miss Armstrong's Circumstances ' has had an odd
fate. The first portion of it appeared in the last number of
the Weekly Review, a gallant, short-lived periodical, which . I
subedited in 1890 ; and the latter half was published as a com-
plete story in the Hawk.

J. D.

CONTENTS

HAGE

MISS Armstrong's circumstances - - i

A WOULD-BE LONDONER - - "3°

SOME POOR FOLK - - - "42

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK - - "67

ALISON Hepburn's exploit- - - 76

THE MEMBER FOR GOTHAM - - "157

TALKING AGAINST TIME - - " 165

banderole's /ESTHETIC BILL - - 180

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS - - - 1 89

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND - - 202

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUiMSTANCES.

AFTER all, my friends have been mis-
taken ; my experiences are not nearly
so exciting as they appeared to be when I
saw them through their spectacles. They
insisted that I had only to write down an
exact chronicle of the days of the years of
my life to be the author of a record as in-
teresting as any novel. I was pretty well
persuaded of the truth of their judgment
when I began to write my history; but I had
not proceeded far when doubts began to
spring up, and by the time I had arrived at
my seventh chapter, and the end of my
seventeenth year, I was so tired of writing,
and of my subject, that I threw my pen in
the fire, and stowed away my papers in an
old bandbox, out of sight and out of mind,

I have read somewhere that if a woman
once falls in love, and then falls out of it,

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

she has no peace until she is again swimming
for Hfe in a high-sea of passion. (I had better
state here that I am just nineteen. The
English master used to object to my figures
of speech ; but I am writing this entirely for
my own satisfaction, and mean to give my
imagination free scope.) It seems to me that
literary composition is like love. When one
has begun to write something of one's own,
it doesn't matter how disgusted one may
become, one returns to the ink-pot like a
drunkard to his cups. So, after three months,
I unearthed the bandbox, and read over my
seven chapters. There were only two in-
teresting pages in the whole manuscript,
and those were the two last. All the early
incidents in my life which my friends thought
so wonderful were of no moment to me. My
birth in Paris during the siege ; the death of
my father, a Scotch Socialist, on a barricade ;
my French mother's penniless journey to
London ; our life as beggars ; my mother's
second marriage to a philanthropic City man ;
my running away when I was seven, and my
wanderings for a fortnight ; my attempt to
poison my baby-brother with matches; my
attack on my philanthropic step-papa with

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

a poker ; my exile to a suburban boarding-
school; my step-papa's fraudulent bankruptcy
and disappearance, and the deaths of my
poor mother and her little boy — all this was
narrated in a dull, frigid manner, quite up
to the degree of stupidity that would have
registered * Excellent ' on Mr. Standard the
English master's meter. (I wonder what he
would think of that metaphor !) A great deal,
doubtless, might be made out of my early
life, and when I am older I may be able to
embody it in some readable way ; but in
the meantime it is impossible for me to put
myself in the place of the little girl I was.
This is simply because I did not begin to be
self-conscious until I was seventeen. When
my life ceases to be as full as it has been of
late, I shall doubtless be able to study myself
from the beginning. At present I am driven
as if by some power outside me to write an
account of a certain day in my life. I don't
like writing, so I am going to make it as
short as I can.

First of all, I shall quote the last two
pages of my manuscript :

* It was at the age of seventeen, when I
found myself in a position of dependence in

3

iMISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

the house of a relative of my stepfather's,
that I first began to look upon myself as a
circumstance. Doubtless this notion arose
from something I had read, but I have never
been able to trace its origin. One night
while I was sitting alone in my room, the
thought came to me that the whole world
was an experiment. Here was I, a tall,
handsome girl, already a woman in appear-
ance, thrust by circumstances into a family
that would have preferred to do without me.
Were circumstances playing off a serio-comic
practical joke on this family and me ? But
my fancy took a higher flight. I saw cir-
cumstances in the shape of the professor of
chemistry and his lean assistant shaking up
folk and families, and towns and countries,
in bottles and beakers ; braying stubborn
folks like me in mortars ; precipitating, cal-
cining, sifting, subliming, filtering powers
and principalities, companies and corpora-
tions ; conducting a stupendous quahtative
analysis of the world. I thought, " Since
it's all an experiment, how can we help it if
we're miserable ?" " By joining the experi-
menters," came the answer pat. This warmed
me, and I began to pace my room. " I will

4

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

be an experimenter," I said to myself. " I
will be a circumstance, and cause things."
I marched up and down for awhile, thinking
how much greater I was than the Prime
Minister, who had simply been tossed up
there by circumstances ; he was only a bit
of the experiment, but I was going to be
a circumstance. Suddenly I saw that my
metaphor had misled me. Circumstances,
I perceived, are the experiment ; everybody
and everything is a circumstance. " You
donkey !" I said to myself. " You don't
need to become a circumstance ; you are
one." Then I marched up and down the
room again, feeling very miserable indeed,
till I hit upon an epigram. " People are
divided into two classes," I said triumphantly,
as I prepared for bed : " those who are cir-
cumstances without knowing it, and those
who are conscious of the fact." I lay awake
for long, overpowered by the tremendous
responsibility which this discovery had laid
on me. The load was lifted, and I fell asleep
the moment I resolved not to submit tamely
like a solution or a salt, which is boiled with
this, and burned with that, but to have a
hand in my own experiment.'

5

M!SS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

Two remarks I must make with regard to
this paragraph. The first is about myself.
I say that I was * a tall, handsome girl,
already a woman in appearance.' A romantic
statement : the simple truth is that I was
big, and rather stout, with a lot of brown,
curly hair, pink cheeks, gray eyes, and
generally pleasant to look at — at least, I
know I liked to look at myself. The second
remark is about the chemists who taught in
the school where I was — done something to,
not educated. I had, and have, no ill will
to these men ; it was simply impossible that
I could help thinking of them in the connec-
tion. The only one of my teachers whom I
disliked, and of whom I still cherish hard
thoughts, is Mr. Standard, who condemned
my compositions, and objected strongly to
my metaphors.

Well, on the morning after my great dis-
covery, while I was engaged in a large half-
furnished room teaching the three little boys
of my stepfather's relative, a loud knock
came to the door, and was followed imme-
diately by the entrance of William Somers,
the eldest son. There had come between
him and the oldest of my charges three

6

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

children, but they were dead. I was much
astonished to see him, because, although
we were on the frankest terms, we seldom
met. My astonishment increased, I even
felt indignant at his masterful manner, as he
gave his little brothers sixpence each, and
said :

* Be off with you ! They deserve a holiday,
don't they, Miss Armstrong ?'

The three little scapegraces needed no
second bidding ; they were halfway down-
stairs before I had recovered my presence of
mind. William Somers closed the door, and
came up straight to me as if he had been
sent for on important business. I stared at
him blankly, and he stood dumb and blushing
within a yard of me. At last he said :

' I have a holiday. Will you come with
me?'

It was evidently not the thing he had
intended to say.

* What have you a holiday for ?' I asked.

* It's a Bank Holiday,' he said.

' A Bank Hohday !' I exclaimed with scorn,
determined to pay him off for his intrusion.
• What slaves you are, you and the whole
of this toiling London ! Your very holidays

7

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

you must take when they come. You can't
do anything else.'

' What do you mean ?' he said, crestfallen.

' Are you aware that you are a circum-
stance ?' I asked severely.

I deeply resented the laugh, quickly
smothered as it was, with which he greeted
this question. I see now that it must have
sounded funny to him, although after my
meditation of the previous night it was a
natural thing for me to say in all sincerity.

* I see that you have never realized that
you are a circumstance,' I continued coldly.
' The best thing you can do with your holiday
is to spend it, the whole of it, hour by hour,
minute by minute, in the intensest contem-
plation possible to you of the fact that you
are a circumstance.'

He looked at my eyes for fully half a minute,
until I was forced to wink.

* You are not mad,' he said ; ' and you don't
seem to be joking. Still, I mean to say what
I have come to say. Will you sit down ?'

His coolness — which was, however, as-
sumed— and his determined tone aggravated
me.

* No,' I said ; ' I will not sit down. I wish

8

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

you to understand that I have fully realized
that / am a circumstance, and I am not
going to submit except to such other circum-
stances as please me. You are a circumstance,
and don't know it. And what a circumstance !
Something in the City — a broker's clerk, I
suppose. You needn't tell me ; I don't want
to know. The prop and stay of your widowed
mother and your three little brothers ! Did
it never strike you what a disagreeable cir-
cumstance you are ? A good, respectable
young man, who never misspends a penny.
The very thought of you is like the taste of
yarn.'

Now, I didn't mean all I said; I was simply
angry without a sufficient reason, as girls and
older people will sometimes be. He changed
colour at my tirade, and held up his hand
deprecatingly ; but I went on.

* Don't interrupt me !' I cried. * And what
is it all for, all your toiling and moiling ? To
feed the mouths of four other circumstances,
as unconscious of what they are as if they
didn't exist. That's all. You're not causing
anything. You're just doing exactly as thou-
sands of others are doing — exactly as circum-
stances will do with you, never realizing that,

9

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

in all regarding yourself, you are the main
circumstance. An explorer, an artist, a poet,
even a prime minister, attempts to cause
something that is unnecessary, and that he
needn't do except of his own motion — but
you !'

* Miss Armstrong,' he said steadily, as I
paused for breath, * you are very excited.
Won't you sit down ?'

* No,' I almost shouted. ' Don't you see
that I have made up my mind not to submit?
I won't be experimented on with impunity.
I should like to sit down, that's true ; but I
refuse to yield to such a miserable circum-
stance. I won't be experimented on with
impunity,' I repeated, liking the sound of the
sentence, and thinking, with what I suppose
I must call feminine inconsistency, that it
would have pleased Mr. Standard.

William Somers looked very much annoyed
— grieved, even. I ought to say that he was
a tall man of twenty-three, with reddish beard
and hair, and hazel eyes. I had not paid
much attention to men up to that time, and
did not know how handsome WilHam Somers
was. The trouble in his face did put me
about ; but, again, if paltry circumstances

10

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

were not to be combated, how was I to
challenge and overcome the great ones which
hemmed me in on all sides ?

* I see some meaning in what you say, Miss
Armstrong,' he said ; * but I think it is stated
a little wildly.'

I felt on the point of crying, so I laughed.
He looked at me inquiringly.

* Do you know,' he said, ' I never heard
your age. How old are you ?'

* I was seventeen two months ago.' That
staggered him. * I suppose you thought I
was thirty ?'

* No ; but I thought you were twenty until
you laughed just now, and then I saw that
you must be younger. How precocious you
are !' he added.

I laughed again, and he saw what a stupid
remark he had made.

' I mean — your figure ' he stammered

and stuck.

'Mr. Somers,' I said, being now mistress
of the situation, * I will not go with you for
a holiday; but you will come with me, and
escort me in my first assault on circumstances.
Observe that I make a concession in having
a squire. It is a bad omen.'

II

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

* Your causing a bad omen is just another
circumstance for you to overcome,' he said,
yielding to my humour.

' I'll be ready in ten minutes. Will you
please get a hansom ?' I said, as we left the
room.

He had not succeeded in saying what he
came to say.

Mrs. Somers, a very bright, quiet little lady,
looked askance at the hansom, but wished us
a pleasant holiday as we drove off.

It was my first ride in a hansom, a fact
which I concealed from William Somers as
long as I could — about one minute, not any
more.

* You have never been in a hansom before,'
he said, looking at me in a quizzical way.

* How do you know ?'

' At first I didn't know, you jumped in so
smartly, and told the driver where to go with
such aplomb ; but then, when we started, in
spite of yourself, a half-happy, half-frightened
look shot across your face, you sighed, and
sank back, and embraced yourself.'

* How dare you !' I said hotly.

My feelings had never been examined to
my face before, and I felt outraged, just as

12

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

I did once when I was posting a letter at a
druggist's, and a ruffian laid his dirty hand
on my shoulder, and turned me round, saying,
* By Jove ! a strapper and a beauty.'

' I dare do all that may become a man,'
said William Somers priggishly,

* Don't talk to me any more just now,' I
said.

* Very well,' he replied ; and, leaning his
arms on the door, he tilted back his hat, and
looked with unaffected interest at everybody
and everything we passed.

I have a great liking for mysteries, and
often stop people who begin to explain things
to me, because I really don't want to know.
A great London mystery of mine is that
smooth, elastic, carpet-like roadway along
which our hansom glided so stealthily. I
admit having thought about its composition,
but I have succeeded in overcoming the desire
to know of what it is made. It seemed that
when we jolted over the stones, we were being
wound up in some curious, uncomfortable
sort of way ; and then, when we reached a
stretch of that London turf, I felt as if we
had been discharged, and were shooting along
through space. (I'm thinking of a crossbow,

13

MISS ARMSTRONGS CIRCUMSTANCES

Mr. Standard.) Really, everything appeared
to me delightful and interesting. I perceived
for the first time what a picturesque city
London is — all of it we saw that morning.
The fantastic stacks of chimneys, like hiero-
glyphics wrought in the air ; the mellow,
antique streets of dwelling-houses ; brick,
and plaster, and paint ; umber, red, and
dull gold, splashed with creeping green ; the
squares, and graveyards, and crescents, with
their trees, and sunflowers, and fountains —
as if Nature were elbowing a way through
the crowded buildings, Mr. Standard ; and
the unknown streets of shops and booths
where, even on a Bank Holidaj^ the butchers
and the fishmongers cry their wares, and the
little children tumble about among mouldy
old furniture on the pavements, like dirty
Cupids in the lumber-room of Olympus, Mr.
Standard ; and the parks, with their glades,
and avenues, and lakes, where Don Quixote
and Sancho Panza lurk, and Robin Hood
and Maid Marian, too, Mr. Standard, if you
had eyes to see ; and the Thames — but we
didn't see the Thames that morning ; and
while my thoughts were still revelling in the
beauty of the City, we stopped, with a jerk

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

that dislocated my imagination, at the house
of Herr Herman Neunzehn, Wellpark Terrace,
Bayswater. When I got out, and told the
driver to wait, Mr. Somers sat very still and
attentive. He said nothing to me, and I said
nothing to him ; but I turned on the steps,
and nodded my head encouragingly.

Herr Herman had been my music-master
in the boarding-school, and had always had
a word of praise for my efforts both in play-
ing and composing. He was dusting his
coat with his gloves preparatory to going
out when I entered his room, but he received
me kindly and said he could afford a few
minutes.

* I have come on business,' I said.
' Have you ?'

' Yes, Mr. Neunzehn. I wish to make a
start in life.'

Mr. Neunzehn's little bright eyes dashed
for a moment close up to his spectacles like
silver fish in a miniature aquarium, and then
became dim again in the depths as he pre-
pared a cigarette.

* I have brought with me,' I said, dis-
playing a roll I had in my hand, * two songs,
the words and music both by myself.'

15

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

Mr. Neunzehn's fish darted past his
pebbles, and he Ht his cigarette.

' Will you oblige me by looking over them ?
and if you think them good enough, will
you give me an introduction to a music-
publisher ?'

' I will,' said Mr. Neunzehn, taking my
manuscripts, and opening them out with his
diabolical fingers. He was all diabolical,
but his fingers were the most diabolical
thing about him — long, knotty, sinewy, as
if made for strangling.

* Thank you very much/ I said, moving
towards the door.

'Wait,' he replied. 'I will do it just
now.'

I stood stock still and watched him as he
glanced rapidly through my scores. He was
much more expeditious than I liked. How
could he possibly comprehend in a few
seconds the full beauty of my melodies,
every individual note of which had been
chosen with such care out of the old cottage
piano's yellow keyboard, and thumped, and
stroked, and listened to, positively for hours,
alone, and in conjunction with the others of
its phrase, until each separate sound had

i6

\

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

become so charged with emotion that I
couldn't hear one of them without quivering !
And my chords ! and the counterpoint in my
symphonies ! He couldn't possibly grasp the
full harmony and subtlety of these without at
least playing the tunes over once.

The silver fish dashed to and fro behind
their glasses, and the smoke curled up
through a long, thick, gray moustache as
if to cure the fish ; but no change in the
diabolical expression hinted at a decision
one way or other. When he had turned
over the last page, he rolled up my manu-
scripts and handed them back to me, rubbed
his shaved cheeks, blew a cloud of smoke
that hid his face, and said :

* No, my child.'
'Why?' I faltered.

* Because they are not good enough.'
' Oh, but try them !'

' I have read them through.'
' But let me play them to you ;' and I
made a dash at the piano.

* No,' he said, closing the instrument. * It
would be of no use. Your music is wrong,
and it would not make it right to play it.'

I said to myself: 'The battle has begun;

17 2

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

here's a circumstance with a vengeance :
don't give in.' Then aloud :

* If you show me the mistakes I will correct
them.'

* You couldn't.'

' Will you correct them, then ?' I suggested
faintly.

* I never correct music except for fools
whose money might get into worse pockets
than mine.'

I thought I understood now.

* But I will pay you, Mr. Neunzehn,' I
said sweetly, with a sudden burst of
patronage, hope flaming up in my heart.

'You're a stupid little girl' — I was a foot
taller than he. ' Listen.' He seized a news-
paper and read : * Some prank them up with
oaken leaves ; some small-pox hospitals, and
banished as far as pos-tribution of articles
of clothing to the heads of-pensations to
large cities.'

He read slowly, making pauses and inflec-
tions as if the matter had been important ;
then his cigarette glowed and crackled
faintly like a squib, and a cloud of smoke
enveloped him, from which he emitted
hoarsely the terrible sentence :

i8

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

* That is your music'

* How?' I whispered, stammering. * I do
not understand. Will you read it again ?'

He showed me the newspaper, and with
his diabolical finger tracked a line of type,
straight across three columns and a half.
He read also, but without attempting to
make it sound like sense.

' That is your music,' he repeated. ' My
dear young lady, amateurs come to me every
week with things like that — parts of remem-
bered words and phrases, correctly spelt as
a rule, and each phrase or sentence quite
grammatical, and sometimes containing bits
and bobs of the most unconnected meanings ;
and they think they have made music. It
just needs a little polishing, they know ; and
that is so easy for me. Look at these words
again. See : out of four columns on four
different subjects ! Would you take that to
Mr. Standard, and ask him to polish it for
you, to make it into one clear sentence ?
Read it again. " Some prank them up with
oaken leaves ; some small-pox hospitals, and
banished as far as pos-tribution of articles
of clothing to the heads of-pensations to
large cities." You might by taking a few

^9

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

words and rejecting all the others invent
a sentence. But that won't do for my
amateurs. They bring me notes, and I
supply the music, the meaning ; but it must
be with their notes. They select nonsense,
and I must make it sense. I never can
make it sense ; but it pleases them, and I
make them pay for it, I can tell you. You are
young and sensible, and can learn a lesson.'

The cigarette had gone out ; the fish were
pressed close to the glasses, and there seemed
to be more water in the aquarium than usual.
The old man was pitying me, I had turned
so white.

* My dear child,' he continued, * you must
not be downcast. I am like a surgeon.
You come to me and ask me if you have
a disease, and I tell you that you have not ;
that you are not a musician, and will never
be one. You ought to be very glad.'

Here he sighed, and I saw that he was
pitying himself. I pronounced with difficulty
a heartless ' Thank you,' for I felt he was
right. Then a new idea occurred to me in a
flash.

* Mr. Neunzehn,' I said, * did you look at
the words of my songs ?'

20

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

' Here and there.'

* What do you think of them ?'
' Nothing ; I am no judge.'

* Will you look at them, and if you like
them set them to music and publish them ?'

' No. Look here.'

He opened a press and showed me a pile
of manuscript.

* There are fifty songs composed by me —
the best music I have written ; and I cannot
get one of them published. It is not my
reputation. My reputation is that of a com-
poser of pianoforte pieces.'

But I didn't give in. I said :

* Can you introduce me to anyone who
might buy my songs ?'

* I can. Howard Dapper lives three doors
from here on the right.'

My heart bounded at the name of the
famous composer, and I could have kissed
old Neunzehn as he wrote me an intro-
duction.

' My time is more than up,' he said, hand-
ing me the letter. * We will go out together.'

He took no notice of the hansom, and I
gave Mr. Somers another encouraging nod.

* Dapper may be stiff,' said Mr. Neunzehn

21

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

at the door of the great man's house ; * but
never mind. If your songs please him he'll
buy them.'

Having knocked and rung, my old music-
master left me in a great hurry.

' Courage, you miserable, trembling cir-
cumstance!' I said to myself, kicking my
heels in the hall till Mr. Dapper should have
read the letter.

Again a little fellow, less than Mr. Neun-
zehn ! I thought of the tall, straight, auburn-
haired man waiting in the hansom ; but I
plunged into business, Mr. Dapper had
received me stiffly, and I was just as stiff.

' I have with me the songs to which Mr.
Neunzehn refers,' I said. * May I read them
to you ?'

* I prefer to read them myself.'

* Unfortunately, I have them set to music
here, and as the music is bad, it might affect
your opinion of the verses.'

'It might.'

* I know the words by heart. Shall I re-
peat them ?'

Mr. Dapper bowed, and I recited my songs
very badly indeed. My auditor's pale, oily
face and purple eyes, like a plain suet-pud-

22

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

ding into which two raisins had got by
mistake, had a dispiriting effect. The songs,
which I still think fair productions for a girl
of seventeen, were both pathetic : in the one
a deserted maiden died ; in the other, a
mother's only child. When I had done, Mr.
Dapper coughed, puckered his dumphng
face, and delivered a short address in a juicy
voice.

* Miss Armstrong' — glancing at the letter
to make sure of my name — 'your songs, I
am sorry to say, do not suit me. I will be
glad to look at any other verses you may
have, here or elsewhere, suitable for pathetic
ballads, with a little story ; but death I never
like introduced. If you have — a sort of
musical duologue, say, to occupy about half
an hour, with a good, rather startling, plot,
and a little fun, I shall be glad to look at it.
Or if you have a cantata for female voices
only, I shall be glad to look at that ; but,
remember, I always like something with a
story in it ; and one thing I always object to
— death, in the broad sense ; that is, descrip-
tion.'

' But death is a circumstance,' I said, at
my wit's end. * It happens always.'

23

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

' We will not argue the point,' he replied,
with a wave of his hand. * If you are really
anxious to succeed as a writer of words for
music, you must be guided entirely by the
requirements of the composer ; but — and
you must not take it unkindly — I do not
think you will ever succeed in that way. If
you wish to try, send me a cantata, or songs,
or a duologue to occupy half an hour — these
are things I need immediately — but I advise
you not to.'

' I will,^ I cried ; ' I will go and write them
at once.'

* I advise you not to. I am almost certain
that they wouldn't suit me.'

* Why r

* I will tell you.'

Mr. Dapper had gradually dropped his
professional tone and air. Some humanity
had slipped into him covertly, wrinkling his
brow and softening his mouth. His face
looked liker a pudding than ever — a pudding
that had been boiled in a cloth and creased ;
but no longer a plain suet-pudding ; rather
a plum-pudding, with the graciousness and
sweetness of that Christmas delicacy. A
light also shone in his eyes, as if the cook

24

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

had lit some brandy, and I expected every
minute to see a sprig of holly appear in his
hair. His voice was still juicy, not with the
tallowy juiciness of a suet-dumpling, but with
the rich and fragrant sap of the Yule haggis
— for I must ' derange my epitaphs,' Mr.
Standard.

' Miss Armstrong,' he said, ' however clever
you may be, you are much too young to
succeed in this kind of work. It takes a
very practised writer to make a song, or else
a special talent, which I don't think you have.
I shall tell you how to graduate in the school
of song-making. Write a tragedy, and pub-
lish it ; write an epic in twelve books, and
publish it; write a volume of miscellaneous

^ verse, and publish it ; write a great novel,

and publish it. The sale of these remarkable
works will teach you what not to do ; and
besides having acquired facility with your
pen, you will have expended all your idealism.

«/ Then you will be in a condition to write
six original songs, which no composer will
take. Then you will write one song — about
sitting by the river in the moon, or walking
r- in the wood when May is young — and a
composer — this composer, possibly — will give

25

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

you a guinea for it ; and while you are dying
of consumption and starvation your song
will be sung at ever}^ concert and in every
drawing-room, and be well forgotten before
the dandelions have grown on your grave.
But ' — and here, as if he had been a conjurer
who performed culinary tricks with his own
head, he shifted his face back into a plain
suet-pudding — ' but if you have a cantata for
female voices only, or a duologue for a lady
and gentleman to occupy about half an hour,
or songs for pathetic ballads, I will be glad
to look at them ; only, death I always object
to — naked, absolute death, or even a broad
hint.'

I don't remember getting out of Mr.
Dapper's house and getting into the hansom.
At seventeen hope is very fierce and reckless,
and is always staking happiness against some
old song or other. I wakened up out of a
blank dream in the midst of the very street
where, an hour before, the picturesqueness of
London had dawned on me. Prisons the
houses seemed, the leprous bricks stained
with blood, the scanty creepers striving
pitifully to cover up the loathsomeness. The
fluent roll of the hansom — was it a hansom,

26

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

or some dragon-car, sweeping along a pave-
ment of good intentions ? ' Facilis,' I began
to myself, when Mr. Standard's face in
ebony, surmounted by ram's horns, flashed
in at the window. My own special, private
butt become a demon to torment me ! What
a war he had waged against quotations from
pocket dictionaries ! ' Fortiter in re,' I said
aloud, in frantic defiance of the fiend,
' Respice finem, Ad libitum, Cni bono T The
ebony visage vanished ; but another was
peering into mine — a fresh face, with won-
dering hazel eyes. I was frightened at it,
and turned away — to think about myself
again. Why, I had only had the opinion of
two men — the one old and soured with his
half-success ; the other middle-aged and
cynical from prosperity. My music was
doubtless as bad as Mr. Neunzehn said, and
my songs too maudlin for Mr. Dapper ;
but as meaningless music and more lachry-
mose songs were bought and sold and sung
every day, I would visit all the music-pub-
lishers in London. I laughed, and, stopping
the cab, told the driver to go to one of
them.

* Closed, ma'am. Holiday.'

27

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

Then I burst into tears, and Mr. Somers
directed the driver to take us home.

I drew myself together and cried quietly.
The first comforting thought that came to
me was, that if this had not been a holiday
I would have kept William and myself on
the rack for hours yet. I had given in. I
did make an attempt to return to my own
side. * Circumstances,' I thought, * are
against you. To-morrow isn't a holiday,
and you can resume the fight. You can
even post your music' But, deep down in
my own heart, I knew I had made a mistake
about myself; and gradually that thought
came up, and up, and up, until I writhed and
wriggled on it as if I had been impaled. I
then perceived this was something very like
remorse, and, feeling how unworthy it was of
one who had determined to fight circum-
stances to go on suffering when the thing
was over, I looked up at William. He was
staring out of the window, with his brows
knotted and his mouth set. There was pain
in his eyes, and I thought at first he was ill.
As I watched him a new idea came stealing
on me like some melancholy music, unheard
before, but strangely familiar. It filled

28

MISS ARMSTRONG'S CIRCUMSTANCES

all my senses like the smell of roses in the
evening, and made my body feel as light as
my soul. This was the new idea : he, here
beside me, was not miserable for himself; he
was suffering for me. A great desire seized
me to lay my head down on this man's
shoulder, to feel his arms about me, and
sleep or faint away ; and this desire would,
I am afraid, have had its course had we not
arrived home before it overpowered me.
*****

That night, in the half-furnished room,
William said to me what he had failed to say
in the morning. How he said it, and how I
replied to him, shall never be written down.
We said things that men and women say to
each other only once — things high and sweet
that ink would soil, and an eavesdropper
mock. . . .

'Ho-ho, boy!'

I must end now. A little circumstance for
which William and I are responsible — I have
helped to cause something — is shouting in
the next room for what nobody can give him
but me.

29

A WOULD-BE LONDONER.

SANDRIDGE came to London too late
for what he wished to accomplish.
His ambition was to be a Londoner. It is
true the Londoner is made, not born ; but,
at the very latest, the process must begin at
twenty-five. Sandridge was two-and-thirty
when he left a North of England town, a
circle of interesting acquaintances, of which
he was the centre, and a roomy, old-fashioned
house of his own, for London solitude and
a modest apartment near Oxford Circus.

In the provincial bosom, faith, even at
thirty-two, meditates Metropolitan miracles.
Sandridge expected to have the London
mountains removed by a Member of Parlia-
ment who was his second cousin.

* Ah !' said the Member, * you must begin
to learn the ropes at a club.'

Needing for himself all the influence he

30

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

could snatch, he resented Sandridge's uncon-
nected state, and refused him a single bone.
That is the use of the fable of ' knowing the
ropes ' ; nobody believes in it, but it is very
convenient to refer to when you are asked
for assistance.

'It's a shame!' grumbled the Member.
* A man's relatives ought to be able to help
him, instead of requiring help.' So he put
up his cousin at an expensive new club.
' Let him find out the ropes there if he can,'
he snarled to an acquaintance. * As well
there as anywhere, when you think of it,
though,' he continued, reconsidering. * Have
you found out the ropes ? Has anyone ever
found out the ropes? No; there's no rig-
ging about it. It's simply a huge tumbling
coil of hemp and iron, all tarred with the
same stick ; and you get hold of a hawser-
end or a chain-cable, and hang on or drop

off.'

In the smoking-room of the new club,
Sandridge made diffident remarks about the
young Disraeli, the young Bulwer; about
Count D'Orsay, about great talkers, about
personalities who had been powerful outside
of politics, literature, and art. These were

31

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

the Londoners he had talked of with such
confidence in the North. He and his friends
had discussed their waistcoats, their elo-
quence, their repartees, ; their influence on
fashions of dress, fashions of speech, fashions
of thought.

In a month's time Sandridge's diffidence
changed into taciturnity. The younger club-
men chaffed him, and called him ' the Dis-
raelian Johnny.' He withdrew into corners
and moped in ante-rooms. One afternoon
Lieutenant Hopeby, of the Purple Guards,
lounged in beside him. He was a very ex-
quisite giant, twenty-three years old, guileless,
as certain about everything as a child of
seven ; and his forte was patronage. He
felt himself an amateur Providence, and was
always on the look-out for somebody to
console. It was he, and Sandridge knew it,
who had struck out the phrase * the Disraelian
Johnny ' ; but it was also he, and he only,
who had given any real attention to San-
dridge's remarks.

' Well, old chap,' began Hopeby, in his
paternal way. ' Let's have a comfortable
talk. How do you get on ? Do you find
yourself becoming a regular Londoner ?'

32

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

Sandridge blushed to the roots of his hair,
but he was quite powerless. He thought,
writhing mentally, how Disraeli would have
touched this youngster with a point of flame
able to drill a passage even through his
armour-plating of conceit, whereas he hadn't
a leaden dart to throw.

* I am afraid,' he stammered, ' I am too old.
" Art is long, and hfe is short," you know.'

* But you mustn't say that,' replied the
Purple Guard kindly. ' Look at — what's his
name ? — the old Roman who began to learn
Greek on his deathbed. It's never too late
to learn, as the penitent thief said. But
what's your difficulty, Sandridge?'

* Nobody ever asks me anywhere ; I never
have a chance to '

' To what ? Come, old chap.'

* Well,' said Sandridge, shifting uneasily in
his chair, * it's not like me to talk in this way
— ah — Hopeby ; but I seldom have a chance
to talk to anybody now. I'm awfully ambi-
tious.' He could have bitten his tongue off
at every word. * You've heard my idea of
the Londoner, his place and power. My in-
tention is to be a Londoner of that kind. I
have educated myself for such a position by

33 3

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

the study — by many studies ; just as one is
educated to take Orders, or for the Army.
But I get no opportunity to — to exercise my
functions.'

' Hard on you — eh ? But I say, you know,
you're quite an original, Sandridge. It's a
new branch ; deportment's nothing to this.
You should have a professorship, my boy ;
teach them to be Londoners. I saw an
article in a paper the other day: "Wanted
— a new occupation." Here you have it :
" The art of being a Londoner — in twenty
lessons." You could charge what you like ;
and you'd get it — for a time.'

' But I'm demoralized,' rejoined Sandridge,
overlooking Hopeby's banter. * The fellows
here don't understand me.' Then he added
very slowly, measuring his words that some-
times faltered, and with eyes that flickered
between confidence and timidity : ' I take it
that I have not yet met a foeman worthy of
my steel. At a dinner of celebrities I believe
I could at once make my mark.'

The Purple Guard sat up, and stared at
Sandridge for fully a minute.

' Yes,' continued Sandridge, misunder-
standing the other's silence, and feeling, to

34

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

his own surprise, as secure as a man who
had led the ace of trumps for the last trick —
* yes, Hopeby ; my place is in those circles
where conversation is understood. Here
every man is full of himself and his own
little affairs. They talk of the club cuisine,
of their regiment, of an actress, or of a
billiard-player; a thought, an epigram, only
makes them raise their eyebrows. I feel
among you like an eagle in a dovecot.'

The Purple Guard sat back, and watched
Sandridge through his eyelashes.

' Conversation is hke piano-playing,' went
on the would-be Londoner, ' and is not truly
valued except by virtuosos. Most of you
fellows, now, would as soon hear a piano-
organ as Paderewski. I have practised talk-
ing ; we used to practise it for hours daily
in the North — the genial initiative, the sudden
digression, the calculated repartee, the retort
in ambush, the fitted apologue, the grooved
anecdote, the cascade of words, the slow sen-
tentious movement, the intolerant harangue;
we had an art and practice of talk with a
terminology all our own. Yes, Hopeby ; I
have it in me to make a great name as a
conversationalist.'

35

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

The Purple Guard sat up again. His sur-
prise was over. It took this young man a
very short time to docket and dismiss any
revelation of character.

' You're one of the queerest chaps I ever
met, Sandridge,' he cried ; * and I'll tell you
what I'll do for you. You know my uncle,
the Pope?'

* Your uncle, the Pope ?'

* I see you don't. Major Hopeby-Bonner,
my uncle, is one of the best talkers in London
— or has that reputation, which is better.
Somebody of consequence whom he snubbed
called him the Pope, and the name stuck.
Now, he's dining here with me to-night.
You come too, and the pair of you can talk
for a wager.'

Sandridge accepted in a faint voice. He
wished that it had been anybody but Major
Hopeby-Bonner's nephew who had asked
him, because he would have preferred to
decline the invitation. He and his friends
had discussed the Major; his novels, poems,
and essays had all been declared inferior —
the work of a callow amateur. Rumours of
his gifts as a talker had also reached the
North, and it had been decided that he was

36

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

a mere farceur, on a level with the jester of
antiquity. Sandridge had imagined himself
brushing off like flies such people as Major
Hopeby-Bonner ; to be asked to meet him
as a man of the first importance blew the
foundation-stone out of his aerial castle. But
he quickly built another one, told himself it
would be practice, went to his room, drank
tea, and dipped into lives of Carlyle, Beacons-
field, Macaulay, and Houghton, till dinner-
time.

The Purple Guard introduced Sandridge
to his uncle as ' a talking chap, too.' Sand-
ridge, perspiring, wondered what Carlyle
would have done in such a circumstance.

Major Hopeby-Bonner, like most garrulous
people, was a reticent, bashful man, who
plunged into speech because silence was ac-
companied with the discomfort of greater
self-consciousness.

* Talk,' said the Major, * is diluted silence.
I confess I could never carry more than a
thimbleful of neat silence in an evening.'

* The idea,' rejoined Sandridge, very white,
and in an unsteady voice, but wishing to say
something strong at once, * is — ah — hardly —

37

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

is not— quite It might have been phrased

differently.'

He was thinking that Beaconsfield would
never have used such a commonplace image.

' It might/ assented the Major, much
amused. ' How would you phrase it ?'

' Well, I would have said,' stammered

Sandridge, 'that — you remember Carlyle

Really, I think there is nothing to beat the
proverb, " Silence is golden," '

* A good proverb. But what is the con-
nection ?'

' The connection ? Eh — we were talking
of silence ; at least, I think so.'

The Major smiled, and went on with his
soup ; and the Purple Guard said, half aside
to Sandridge :

' Bravo ! That must be the retort in
ambush — eh? You've floored him; he hasn't
a word to say, you see.' He added : * What
do you think of London, Sandridge ?'

* It's — very big,' stammered Sandridge ;
* and enormous crowds and buses, and — I
understand the fogs are dreadful.'

He had no idea of what he was saying;
he was going over in his mind the sentences
that had passed between himself and the

38

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

Major, trying to improve or explain away
his own ineptitude.

' Ah ! the slow sententious movement,'
murmured the Purple Guard.

* I have been in London half my life,' said
the Major ; * and yet the mere speaking of
the word " London," the overhearing it said
casually, often thrills me with a sense of
terror, and wonder, and delight.'

* Mesopotamia,' trolled the Purple Guard.
Sandridge, still several remarks behind

time, struck in :

* The connection, Major Hopeby-Bonner,
between what you said about silence and
what I said is perhaps, at first sight, not
very evident, but '

There he paused, and for the life of him
could not resume his sentence.

' We're waiting for the " sudden digres-
sion," ' said the Guardsman ; and the Major
smiled encouragingly.

But it was all over with Sandridge ; he went
hot and cold, turned ghastly pale, pleaded
illness, and withdrew.

That was his last appearance in a club or
any haunt of men for a long time. He ceased
all correspondence with his old friends ; he

39

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

hid away his biographies and books of table-
talk, took all his food in his own room, walked
about the streets at night muttering to him-
self, grew gray and bent, and was watched
by the police. One autumn evening, feeling
that actual madness beset him in his solitude,
he slipped into the concert-room of the Cafe
Cosmopolite. The band had just ceased play-
ing a selection from * II Trovatore,' and the
crowd was somewhat subdued. Many noticed
Sandridge, and were moved by his appear-
ance. His furtive life had given him a stealth}^,
gliding motion. His grizzled hair, which he
wore long, had gone off his forehead, and
showed a high brow ; his beard was also long
and wizard-like. His slender, stooping figure,
pale face, and deep-set, haunted eyes, in-
terested some spectators, and made others
uneasy. He felt the impression he created,
and was gratified. Next night he returned,
and soon formed a habit of dining at the
Caf6 Cosmopolite every evening. He enters
a cold, self-centred figure, with wolfish, wan-
dering eyes, like those of one who had been
racked, and glides to his chosen seat. Women
catch their breath as he passes, and all who
see him for the first time ask who he is. Some

40

A WOULD-BE LONDONER

think him Hke a picture of Christ; others, Hke
Mephistopheles. The waiters know nothing
of him, but tell country visitors that he is
this, that, or the other celebrity, according
to fancy. He must be served in silence ;
points out on the card and the wine-list what
he requires, and eats ravenously. He is never
heard to utter a word except * Go away !' if,
as sometimes happens, a waiter forgets and
addresses him.

He is the type of failure, and a legend
begins to grow round him. His ambition
was paltry, but he pursued it highly. Defeated
in his effort to be first, he refused any other
place ; and it is this element of greatness in
his character which makes him now so im-
pressive an apparition in the Cafe Cosmo-
polite.

41

SOME POOR FOLK.

IT was at Barming, on an autumn after-
noon in 1893, that I lighted on a hop-
picker's encampment ; thirty - seven white
tents gleaming in a white field. Half the
people were in their tents, and the remainder
divided between the public-house and the
pa3'-office. The hop-pickers' day is a short
one — from seven till four, with half an hour
or an hour's interval. The early stoppage
is necessary, because the day's picking has
to be measured, and that is a tedious process.
I went into the encampment and sat down
beside a man, apparently a little over middle-
age, who was lounging at the door of his
tent. A little fellow of three romped about
him, and a girl of fourteen was lighting a
fire of sticks. The man had a pleasant,
clean-shaven face, and dark, dancing eyes.
He replied bashfully to my salutation, but

SOME POOR FOLK

seemed well pleased that I should speak to
him. Hardly had we started a conversation
when a woman came up dressed in rusty
black. She said a few words aside to the
man, and was about to move away, but
remained when I asked her if she liked this
outdoor hfe.

* Well,' she said, ' I shall have a few shil-
lings over when the picking's done, and I
had no money at all when I came.'

* She's just out of hospital,' said the man.

* Yes, sir,' she went on ; * I had pleurisy,
and have been in hospital for months.'

* She was once better off,' interjected the
man in a half-aside. ' She kept a lodging-
house in Kensington.'

* A tent is hardly the place for a con-
valescent— from pleurisy, too,' I said.

* That's true,' she assented ; * but when I
came out of hospital a fortnight ago I had
only two or three shillings in my pocket, and
no home, and no friends. I had been hop-
ping when I was a girl, and I knew if I
could get down here I wouldn't starve for a
week or two. My money brought me down
and no more. I have no bedding and no
clothes but what's on me ; and I've got to

43

SOME POOR FOLK

keep extraordinar' clean to be clean.' (She
looked very clean and tidy.) ' At night with-
out bedding it's very cold in the tent, and if
he,' nodding to the man, ' didn't give me two
coats to put over me I would be frozen. I'm
always glad when the morning comes. Cold
as I am, though, it's colder still when I get
up and out ; it's like going into the sea. It
makes me nimble, I can tell you. I light
the fire and make the tea, and then we all
get up.'

*A11 !' I said. ' How many are there of you ?'
'Nine,' replied the man. 'There's me
and the missus and the three children ;
mother here, a young couple, and a lad.'

* Then you came down in company ?'

' No ; we never saw each other till the
overseer put us together in this tent'

* But I thought that hoppers travelled in
companies?'

* Many of them do ; but there's lots of
couples and families and singles that come
down independent.'

The convalescent left us on some errand,
and when she had gone the man said some
things about her, chiefly in praise of her
spirit and her good-nature.

44

SOME POOR FOLK

' She's no home to go to, and I think she'll
go back with us for the winter. My daughter
there, she's fourteen and can go out to service ;
and the old lady would be a great help in the
house, and her meat wouldn't be missed.'

I asked if I might be allowed to look into
the tent. The man laughingly permitted
me ; but there was nothing to see. A thick
carpet of clean dry straw, some bundles of
bedding, a perambulator, and a few metal
and earthenware plates constituted the entire
plenishing, the pots and pans being out-
side. I asked him if he really Hked camp-
ing out.

* Yes,' he replied, ' I like it very well. I've
always been a roving blade. I ran away
from home when I was fourteen, and have
turned my hand to many a thing. I've been
a painter, a docker, a barber, a carpenter. I
was in a country post-office for three years,
and I was in the Customs on the hop-duty
before the tax was taken off. At home I'm
a painter again, but I'm too old to be on the
market ; besides, my health's giving way,
and I can do only half a man's work.'

* How old are you ? You don't look over
fifty.'

45

SOME POOR FOLK

'I'm sixty -three, sir. I know I don't
look it in the face ; but my back's giving

way.'

'Then this Httle three-year-older will be
your grandson ?'

' No, my son ; and there's a baby eight
months old. I'm married to my second
wife, and she's thirty years younger than
me. She was a cook in a good family. I
painted her kitchen once, and we made it
up. She's a good wife, and a good cook, is
my missus. She makes sixpence go as far
as half-a-crown, and the Queen might eat
the dinners she turns out.'

During my talk with the hop-picker there
had been a constant coming and going
through the gap in the paling by which I
had entered the encampment. Those who
came were returning from the pay-office, and
those who went were mostly going away for
good.

' Why do they give it up,' I asked, ' when
there's plenty of picking to be done yet ?'

' Well, you see,' the old man replied,
'they've just been paid; they'll have from
ten shillings to a pound in their pockets;
and they know that though they were to

46

SOME POOR FOLK

stay here hop-picking for a year, they would
never have any more to go away with in the
end. They're tired of it ah^eady, too, and
away back to Whitechapel or the Borough.'

' How long have they been at it ?'

' About a fortnight.'

'And couldn't they have another ten shil-
lings or so to add to what they have saved
at the end of another fortnight ?'

* But they didn't save what they have, or
they wouldn't have it ; it was saved for
them. You see we're allowed to draw small
sums as we need them while we're working,
and when the job's done we get the balance.
Most of the folks you see going away know
quite well that they're sure to spend all they
have before they would think of working
again, and so they're off home to take it out
in gin crawls. Some of them may come
back again and get another turn.'

' Will you cut my hair to-day, then, old
un?' cried a gruff voice suddenly.

* I will,' said my new acquaintance, after
a moment's hesitation, springing up into a
long stooping figure that seemed hardly to
belong to his fresh face.

The new-comer sat on the ground, and

47

SOME POOR FOLK

the old man cut his hair in a thoroughly
workman-like style.

*A soldier?' I queried, judging from the
manner of the man and his moustache.

* Yes, guv'nor,' he replied. * All that.'

* Been in active service ?'

* Boer expedition.'

* Killed your man ?'

' That would be hard to tell. I got a
scratch on my arm.'

* Pension ?'

* Some coppers a day.'

When his elf-locks were trimmed the
soldier gave the barber threepence.

* Your charge is a penny,' he said ; * but if
you hadn't done it I'd have had to pay three-
pence in a shop. Good-day, guv'nor.'

He was not at all a bad kind of man. He
span no yarns, and the laconic bluster of his
speech was original.

Shortly after he was gone a shrill outcry
arose in the road, and in a second or two a
hale old woman of about seventy entered the
field by the gap in the paling. She was
alone, complaining aloud to the heavens and
the earth.

' He says he'll keep my clothes,' she said.

48

SOME POOR FOLK

* But he can't — he can't do it. Seven shil-
hngs ! I'll give him no seven shillings.'

She was hobbling past the tent at which I
sat when she caught sight of me, an unusual
apparition in the encampment. She stopped
promptly, and came up. Her face, which
was still comely, was as white as paper, her
mouth worked, and her big, hard, blue eyes
had a steely light in them.

' Master,' she cried, clenching her hands,
' he says he'll keep my clothes — the pole-
puller says he'll keep my clothes if I don't
give him seven shillings. But he can't do
it ; there's no law for it — is there, master ?'

* Surely not,' I said.

The woman was beside herself with fury ; it
would have been folly to ask what she meant.

' No ; he can't keep my clothes !' she
shrieked ; and trudged away to her own tent.

The man beside me knew what was wrong;
the explanation will be better understood after
a description of the method of hop-gathering.

The hop-pickers work in what are called
' bins-companies.' The bin is a wooden frame
divided into two compartments lined with
sacking. One picker, who may have as much
help as he or she chooses, is responsible for

49 4

SOME POOR FOLK

each compartment Five bins are counted
to a company ; and a man, called a pole-
puller, is told off to keep each company sup-
plied with hops. This he does by uprooting
the pole on which the vine grows.

' And what claim can the pole-puller have
on this old woman ?' I asked.

* He has none ; but he thinks he'll get a
shilling or two out of her. She cooked his
dinner, and washed his shirt for him ; and
in order that she mightn't lose anything, he
picked for her every day while she was off
duty, as you might say. And now he wants
seven shillings.'

* But the arrangement was — wasn't it ? —
that he should pick for her in return for her
cookery ?'

* Yes ; but he thinks he'll make more of it,
you see.'

' But that's very unfair.'

* I say it's damned scoundrelly, sir, to keep
the old woman's blankets.'

' Master, he can't keep my clothes — can
he ?' shrieked the old woman, reappearing
suddenly from behind the tent.

* Certainly not,' I said.

* No, sir ; he can't/ she continued. * He

5°

SOME POOR FOLK

wants seven shillings, but I'll not give him a
sixpence. I'll get the policeman ;' and away
she went to the village again, an embodiment
of concentrated rage, the consciousness of
the justice of her cause lighting up her old
worn face.

I have never seen a fiercer blaze of indigna-
tion ; there was divinity in the clear fire of
wrath that burnt in her eyes against the
wrong-doer. She was not thinking of her
blankets ; she was consumed with a great,
simple anger at dishonesty brought directly
home to her.

My companion and I sat silent for several
minutes after the old woman was gone. Two
carriages rolled past on the highway, above
which the field of the encampment ascended
about twenty feet. Shouts and laughter, oaths
and screams, rose from most of the tents
behind us, and fainter cries came from the
village inn about a furlong away. Couples
and parties passed out and in, discussing and
quarrelling. I saw only one amicable couple
among those who left the encampment — an
old soldier gave his old wife his arm, and
they smiled to each other and talked quietly,
walking sedately to the station.

51

SOME POOR FOLK

* They're for Woolwich,' said my acquaint-
ance. * I shaved the man this morning. He
told me they've made enough to lay in a ton
o' coal for the winter.'

The sloping sun got free of the clouds that
began to redden, and a ruddy tinge of evening
touched the trees and the distant smoke-
wreaths of the oasthouses. The fire which
the hop-picker's daughter had heaped up with
faggots hummed and sang softly all in a clear
flame, and a big pan of water above it began
to keep a low antiphone of liquid sounds.
On the highway the shadows grew long ;
homing birds flew across the valley of the
Medway ; far away on the undulating horizon
darkness flickered up faintly, the early dawn
of night.

* He can't keep my clothes ; the police-
man says I'm not married to him!' cried
the wrathful old dame, once more appearing
through the gap in the paling. ' Master,' she
cried, for the third time stopping before me,
' the policeman says I'm not married to him,
so he can't keep my clothes. I'll give him
no seven shiUings.'

We heard her exclaiming triumphantly all
the way through the encampment, * The

52

SOME POOR FOLK

policeman says I'm not married to him ! The
policeman says I'm not married to him !'
In a few minutes she returned, exclaiming :

* I'll bring the policeman— I'll go and bring
the policeman. He can't keep my clothes ;
I'm not married to him.'

She stopped, however, at the paling, and
held on to it for a second or two. Then she
turned, and, gulping down a tempest of sobs,
muttered, ' I'll give him half-a-crown.' This
time she did not look near me ; she felt her-
self beaten — that she was yielding to injustice.
She slunk away at that moment, one of the
most wretched of all creatures under the sun.
She was a strong old woman, in good health,
and better dressed than most of her com-
panions ; but the poorest and most thriftless
of them all was happier than she, with her
divine sense of justice unappeased, and forced
to yield to wrong. A compromise must have
been effected ; for I saw her later on with all
her belongings on the road to the station,
dejected but scornful.

* Here's my missus,' said the man, smiling
to a comely dame, who came up and clinked
down beside us.

Her baby was at her breast — a fine, fat

53

SOME POOR FOLK

little fellow, fair, and already looking like his
mother. I asked if the child did not incom-
mode her much at her work.

' Oh no V she said, and showed me how
she fastened him in a shawl round her waist
while she picked the hops.

I remarked on his capital condition. She
rejoined that he was a lusty little chap, and
added naively, 'This was my Christmas-box.'
She then produced her tally-book, and counted
out half a sovereign and some shillings and
coppers to her husband. He counted them
over, too, and returned them to her.

* I've had a bit o' luck, besides,' said the
woman. * Two shillings for bin-money.'

Her husband congratulated her, and told
her of his earnings with his scissors and razor.
Bin-money, I learnt, was an extra payment,
sometimes given and sometimes not, to those
who looked after their own bin, dragging it
about from place to place as required. I
bought the woman's tally-book, and have it
before me now. Between August 21 and 29 —
the hop-harvest was most exceptionally early
in 1893 — she and her step-daughter pulled
136 bushels of hops, the greatest quantity on
one day being 27 bushels, the least 11. A

54

SOME POOR FOLK

shilling for 6 bushels gives 22s. 8d. From
August 30 to September 4, they pulled
89 bushels, for which, as the hops were of a
better quality, they were paid at the rate of
IS. for 5 bushels. That gives roundly 17s. lod.
The fortnight's earnings of this family, ex-
clusive of what the father made by barber-
ing, and including the mother's bin-money,
amounted to £2 2S. 6d., to which must be
added the rent of the tent, and the cost of
the straw, firewood, and water provided gratis
by the hop-grower. During the fortnight they
had drawn 24s., so that they were 17s. 6d.
to the good.

* Not much for a family, is it ?' asked the
goodwife ; but she spoke with a cheerful
laugh, and told her daughter to bring the
tea, which had been infusing for some time.

A brown bowl and a tin mug was all the
tea-service they had. The * tinny ' was given
to the three-year-older, as he was growing
fractious, and the brown bowl was handed
to me. I offered it to the woman, but she
rejected it peremptorily. She blushed, indeed,
and looked ill-pleased, as if she imagined that
I entertained some idea that she did not
know how to treat a guest. I drank the

. 55

SOME POOR FOLK

whole bowlful, and it then went round ; the
woman first, then her husband, and lastly
the girl, who seemed to be on the best of
terms with her step-mother.

When I left, the man said :

* I'd be very glad to come across you again
some day.'

The words are not polished, but the tone
and manner were courtesy itself. They were
brave folk, that family of hop-pickers — brave
and courteous.

II.

In one of those old-fashioned third-class
carriages open from end to end, my sole
companion from Cannon Street in the 11.17
main-line Kent train was an odd-looking
little man with a weather-beaten face and a
twisted Roman nose. There was a compart-
ment between us, but he kept tossing in-
articulate remarks across it to me ; he was
quite cheerful, and apparently indifferent as
to whether I heeded or understood. At every
stoppage he thrust his head out of the window,
and hailed one or other of the railway officials,
who all seemed to know him. I changed at
Dunton Green for Brasted, and he changed,

56

SOME POOR FOLK

too. From the luggage-van of the train we
came in, he received a large deep basket,
which he placed upon a form on the platform
directly opposite the compartment of the local
train in which I had taken a seat. Having
lifted out of the deep basket a shallow tray-
basket, which fitted like a lid, he proceeded
to line the latter with an old Daily Telegraph.
Then from the bottom of the deep basket he
took several large brown-paper bags, and
emptied their contents into his tray — shrimps
as pink as coral, and as fresh as the dawn.
The tray filled, he replaced it within the deep
basket, disposed neatly of the overlapping
newspaper, and got into the train with his
stock-in-trade. I left my compartment at
once, and went into his.

* What price shrimps ?' I said.

' Thrippence a pynte,' he replied.

I gave him threepence for permission to
eat as many as I wanted between Dunton
Green and Brasted, a distance of about two
and a half miles.

* Where were they caught ?' I asked.
' Mawgyte,' (Margate.)

' And where did you buy them ?

* Billinsgyte.'

57

SOME POOR FOLK

' And do you make a living by selling
shrimps in the country?'

* I tries to.'

* I don't see how it can pay you. How
many have you here ?'

' Four gallons.'

' What did you pay for them ?'

' A shillin' a gallon.'

' And then there's the train ?'

* Yus ; abart siving shillin' I lays hout
on.'

* And you sell at threepence a pint ?'

* Ho, well, you know, I suits my pryce to
my custermers. When I goes to a big
haowse I charges fo'pence ; and this little
measure has yer see, theer's four on 'em to
the pynte ; but one's a penn'orth, and I sell
lots o' penn'orths.'

* Then I suppose you can calculate on
having fourpence a pint over all ?'

* I dessay.'

' Well, then : your expenses are about seven
shillings ; you sell four gallons : let me see —
thirty-two pints, that is, at fourpence, and
thirty-two fourpences is barely eleven shil-
lings. Four shillings a day — twenty-four
shillings a week ?'

58

SOME POOR FOLK

* Yus ; abart it. And I've seen the tyme
when I made a quid a dye.'

* Selling shrimps ?'

' Sellin' shrimps. And naow I wouldn't
complyne of a quid a week. It's just a
chawnse.'

' People don't buy shrimps as they used to
do, then?'

* I surppose so ; but I dun'no. I know I
does my best. Yer see me come in at Can-
non Street ? Well, I syve sixpence by comin'
in at Cannon Street. If I come in at Lon-
don Bridge I 'ev to pye fur my bawskitt.
Theer's no squarin' of 'em theer ; sixpence
yer 'ev to pye. But at Cannon Street I give
'em an 'andful o' shrimps, and they tyke my
bawskitt fur nothin'.'

' I see. And do you live in London ?'
'Yus; I live near the Elephant an
Cawstle.'

* And sell shrimps all the year round ?'

* Ho no ; in the winter I sells muffins an'
crumpets, with a board an' a green cloth, an'
a bell — yer know the sort.'

' Does it pay any better than the
shrimps ?'

* Abart it. Whort I ses is this : let hevery

59

SOME POOR FOLK

man myke a livin' in 'is own wye, and don't
be too bloomin' pertickler 'ow 'e does it.
That's squar' an' honest, an' no mistyke
abart it. Do yer own do, an' don't you be
too pertickler 'ow yer does it. Thet's whort
mykes powperses — bein' too pertickler.'

The shrimp-seller's advice was a little
ambiguous, but I am certain his meaning
was good. I left the train at Brasted, and
he went on to Westerham to rouse the
sleepy echoes with his Cockney cry,
' Shrimps, fresh every dye ! Shrimps fresh
to-dye!' His shrimps were good. The few
I ate had a delicate briny flavour, and they
melted in the mouth like a curd, or some
confection of the foam of the sea.

In the afternoon of the same day, on the
slope of Ide Hill, I halted beside a big build-
ing like a factory, standing close to the road.
I found it to be the Sundridge Union, and I
copied the following :

'Notice to Vagrants. — Task of work for
casual paupers who are detained for more
than one night. Males : For each day of
detention the breaking of one ton of stone
shall be broken to such size as the Guardians,
having regard to the nature thereof, may

60

SOME POOR FOLK

prescribe ; or the picking of four pounds of
unbeaten, or eight pounds of beaten, oakum.
As regards females, for the day of detention
the picking of two pounds unbeaten, or four
pounds of beaten, oakum ; or nine hours'
work in washing, scrubbing, and cleaning,
or needlework.'

Official writings have always interested me,
and I was still endeavouring to arrive at the
literary point of view of the composer of this
notice, when it occurred to me that / was a
vagrant. I began immediately to consider
whether I should have my oakum beaten or
unbeaten, or whether it might not be better
to have the ton of stone. Oakum I knew
nothing about, but stone — I had once broken
stone. It was on the low road to Alloa, near
Cambus, that I wielded the stone-hammer
for a quarter of an hour. The old man was
very dubious when I asked to be allowed to
try my hand, and not without reason, for
there is an art in stone-breaking ; and although
I followed the instructions given as closely
as I could, my quarter of an hour's hard
labour ended with the fracture of the hammer-
shaft. That was more than twelve years
ago, and I remembered how astonished I

61

SOME POOR FOLK

was when the old man told me that he was
paid half-a-crown the yard of stone, and that
able-bodied men could make, and did make,
sometimes ten or twelve pounds a month.

While these reflections were passing
through my mind, I saw a young man ap-
proach the gate from the workhouse. He
was dressed in corduroys, with brass buttons
and a soft felt hat. I hailed him as he passed
through the gate, and asked if they had
many casuals. It was some little time before
he understood my question, and in making
him understand it I perceived that his mind
was somewhat alienated.

' Oh yes,' he said at last. ' There be a lot
of them — twenty or thirty of a night.'

' So many as that ?' I said.

* As near as it might be. I don't know as
I know how many, but there's always a lot
of them.'

I asked him if twopence would be of any
use to him, and he said very heartily that it
would.

* I can buy some sugar or a little tea,' he
said.

' How can you do that ?'

* A gentleman brings us things. I don't

62

SOME POOR FOLK

know what he is; he's a sort of postman, if
so be you understand, sir. He brings letters,
although he hasn't signed any pledge or
written his name down, and he brings things
for us when we have money. This will get
me a pound of sugar, sir.'

' Don't they give you enough sugar ?'

* Well, not to say enough, sir. I'm in the
old men's ward through me taking fits. And
we have tea and bread and butter for break-
fast ; in the young men's ward they have
only hot water.'

* How old are you ?'

* I'm seventeen ; my father was an engine-
driver, and he was killed on the railway, and
I lived with my grandfather from the time I
was five. I'm a bit of a blacksmith ; my
grandfather was a blacksmith, and a good
one, too, and I came on remarkable well. I
could make a clout-nail and an S hook and a
staple, when I had to come here because of
me taking fits. I'm a very good boy for
work, but I fell down a well in a fit, and my
grandfather died, and they brought me here.'

' Where did you live ?'

* In Seven Oaks Weald, not far from here,
and my grandmother lives there still. I

63

SOME POOR FOLK

hope and trust I shall have a hohday soon.
I haven't had a fit for a month, and if I keep
well I shall have a holiday. If so be you
have clothes of your own to go away in you
can have as long a holiday as you like ; but
if so be you have only the workhouse clothes,

then you can have only '

I forget how long he said.

* Is your mother alive ?'

' Yes, sir, and I haven't seen her for three
years. She's something in a waiting-room
in London — no, Southampton — she's in
Southampton, and I do hope and trust to
see her this summer. She is coming to see
my grandmother. But my grandfather's
dead. They said he cheated with picks,
and didn't steel them ; but he didn't, sir —
he wouldn't do such a thing.'

* What do you mean ?'

* Instead of steeling the picks proper, they
said he only cut a slot and pretended to ;
but he didn't, sir, he didn't.'

I gave him a shilling, being much pleased
with him ; but the effect on him was distress-
ing. He sidled up to me, laid his hand on
my arm, and spoke quite incoherently. In
a second or two he calmed down, however,

64

SOME POOR FOLK

and told me that he would keep the shilling
until he got his holiday, and buy something
for his grandmother, ' as it might be a loaf,
or sugar, or some matches.'

When I shook hands with him, he said he
hoped to see me again, * and I'll give you
something — if so be I have it, sir.'

As soon as he had gone, another workhouse
inmate — an old man this time — came out of
a field and asked for tobacco. I gave him
twopence, which he took, and set off up the
road at a frantic pace. Then two little boys
of six or seven appeared, and two women,
one very old, the other middle-aged. The
elder had the bleached face of a washer-
woman ; toothless gums, heavy underlip, and
sunken eyes, with an unearthly leer in them.

' I'm a poor orphan,' she said, ' and have
nobody to look after me or give me sugar.'

The other woman — the middle-aged one —
had coal-black eyes that seemed about to
dance out of her head, and she carried in her
arms a large doll in the cap and long clothes
of a baby. She spoke, too, but it was im-
possible to make out what she said, as she
had no palate. She had lost also half the
teeth on the left side of the upper jaw, and

65 5

SOME POOR FOLK

half the teeth on the right side of the lower
one. Those that remained were very large,
and as she opened her mouth wide in trying
to speak, the effect of her whole appearance
was grotesquely horrible. She also talked
of sugar ; I made out so much as that.

' Neither have i anybody to give me
sugar,' piped each of the little boys.

I gave both of the boys a penny, and they
ran off at once with a hurried ' Thank you.'

The epileptic youth had been dazzled
with the present of a shilling, and so I ex-
perimented with one on each of the women.
The older of the two leered incredulously,
studied the shilling, lifted it to her lips as if
to bite it (forgetting that her teeth were
gone), then turned and scuttled away at the
top of her speed. The middle-aged woman
stared at the coin and me alternately, bobbed
a steep country curtsy, and went off slowly
and without a sound, rocking her doll. The
idea of happiness, the delight of life, seemed
here to have dwindled down with young and
old, sane and insane, into a desire for a little
more sugar. This is the tragic farce that
puzzles, and will perhaps always puzzle : the
vicissitudes and fate of the paragon of

animals.

66

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK.

I THINK I could count the number of
times a shoeblack has operated on my
boots. Yet men who have had their boots
shoeblacked almost every day of their lives
have never encountered anything like a
certain experience of mine.

One afternoon I placed my foot on the
box of a particularly intelligent-looking shoe-
black a little way up a street on the north
side of the Strand. Wishing if possible to
find out what had brought a man with a
good forehead and a face of some refine-
ment so low in the social scale, I said :

* You look thoughtful.'

* Not thoughtful,' he replied. ' Melancholy.'
' Melancholy !' I echoed. * Yes ; yours, I

should imagine, is a melancholy calling.'

' You imagine rightly,' said the shoeblack.
* Melancholy ? I should think so ! You may

67

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK,

say, now, that policemen are melancholy.
Well, they have certainly a kind of melan-
choly, for there is no other word that can
rightly apply to the mental condition of
those knights of the street ; but wherein
their melancholy differs from the true melan-
choly of three hundred years ago, it would
be hard to say.'

I was astonished, and, leaning forward,
rested my arms on my knee to obtain
a closer view of this extraordmary shoe-
black.

* What is the difference,' I asked, * between
the policeman's melancholy, and the melan-
choly of the sixteenth century ?'

* The difference, sir,' replied the shoeblack,
* lies deep enough, beyond a doubt. It may,
perhaps, be found in the fact that the mind
of the modern man is much more alert,
because more occupied about ways and
means than the ancestral mind could have
been. Inspector Bucket, for example — in
" Bleak House," sir — has a brilliant intellect
compared with Dogberry — " Much Ado," sir ;
but however excellent in the quality he pro-
fessed Bucket may have been, he lacked the
gift of imagination. Dogberry, on the other

68

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK

hand, was of imagination all compact ; so
imaginative was he that in the midst of all
the tediousness he found it in his heart to
bestow on Leonato, he was able in four
words to predict Sarah Gamp.'

' Sarah Gamp ! What do you mean ?'
' Yes, sir, Sarah Gamp. Lord Tennyson
was once detected in the act of divination.
In the " Ode on the Death of the Duke of
Wellington " occurs the line, " The last great
Englishman is low,'' which a certain writer
has indicated as a prediction of the greatness
of the late Lord Sherbrooke. That was very
good prophecy ; but it cannot be compared
with Dogberry's far-seeing vaticination. " It
shall be suffigance," he said. If in that
brief sentence Dogberry does not give a dis-
tinct hint of the deathless Sarah ** deniging,"
"suppoging," and using her soft "g" gene-
rally, where in profane literature is prophecy
to be found ? You must accept it, sir, with-
out further proof, that the absence of imagina-
tion in the modern constable accounts in a
measure for the inferiority of his melan-
choly.'

My amazement was so great on hearing
these extraordinary remarks from a shoe-

69

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK

black, that I found myself without a reply
for a second or two. At last I said, wishing
to draw him out, ' Policemen are too harassed
to be melancholy, I suppose.'

' Right, sir,' replied the shoeblack. * Like
most people, they are too busy to be melan-
choly. The fruity melancholy which a man
trod out of any profession or occupation long
ago was matured in the cool grotto of his
brain to such a crusted mellowness as would
have pleased the seasoned palate of old
Burton himself, only by the long leisure and
daily recurring ease of a time which knew
not post-cards, nor railways, nor telegrams ;
a time when an editor was rarer than a
bishop is now, and the printer's devil a
harmless imp renowned for his patience.
Still, it may be said that a policeman is
melancholy, and a postman, and a sandwich-
man, and a costermonger ; but it is an adust
forbidding melancholy. For, as I said before,
they are too busy ; leisure is impossible to
them. Their occupations, with the excep-
tion of the costermonger's, are silent, but
their thoughts are never free. Their melan-
choly is to true melancholy what the crab-
apple is to the Newtown pippin.'

70

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK

* Where now,' I asked, * will you find any-
thing like the old-fashioned melancholy?'

' Why, sir,' replied this amazing shoeblack,
' if old Burton could take a walk to-day along
Oxford Street or the Strand, in search of
melancholy, he might for a moment be
inclined to stop at the policeman ; he might
cast a lingering look at the postman ; and
pause in doubt as there passed a sad pro-
cession of sandwich-men, who, having failed
to open Pistol's oyster, the world, are doomed
to get in between two shells themselves ; he
might, old Burton might, give a thought to
these. But, sir, he would sit down on the curb,
or on a window-ledge, to study every shoe-
black he came across. " Here, at last," he
would sigh, ** is something like the melan-
choly of my own time — the melancholy which
Fracastorius knew, and which Aretseus per-
ceived to be a perpetual anguish of the soul."
And he would be right. The shoeblack has
leisure — daily, hourly leisure. He makes a
small but certain living. His work, though
artistic in a low degree, requires no thought,
and the labour is not excessive ; brief periods
of idleness alternate with briefer periods of
brisk polishing. He has no need to solicit

7i

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK

custom except by a mechanical gesture. As
far as his occupation is concerned, he is a
living automaton ; and yet every boot planted
on his box performs a miracle, for it sets in
operation not only a pair of human hands
and arms, but brush-makers, and blacking-
factories, and carpen^-ers, besides producing
the highest of all miracles, faith — faith in the
owner of the boot, that his foot will not be
stabbed with knives or scalded with vitriol ;
and faith in the shoeblack, that when the
proper shining feat has been performed, a
penny will be punctually forthcoming.'

' But this is rather from the subject, you
know,' said I.

* Well, it is,' he rejoined. ' But what I
want to say is this : the shoeblack has
leisure ; he knows what on an average he
must earn ; he has no need to speculate ; his
thought is free ; his imagination roams high
and low, gathering from the stars and from
the mud amorphous fancies and half-elabo-
rated humours that develop into a dumb
melancholy.'

'Ha!' I exclaimed. 'Couldn't you make the
shoeblack's melancholy articulate ? Couldn't
his dull, moist soul be dried and struck like

72

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK

a lucifer-match on his own box ? Couldn't
he blaze out for an instant and illumine a
corner of the universe with his actual melan-
choly?'

Much struck with my metaphor, the shoe-
black sat back on the calves of his legs,
slapped his brushes together, and said :

'Well, sir, do you recognise in this any-
thing like the shoeblack's melancholy ? Of
honest animals that work for their living by
having their throats cut or their heads
knocked in for the use of man, by common
consent the pig is considered morally and
intellectually to be at least below par. And
so, of human beings who earn a livelihood,
the lowest in the scale is the shoeblack,
although the dustman may be said to run
him pretty close for the last place. Yet
mud in which he works is earth, and out of
earth was made man. Man in a wrong place,
like other matter so situated, may be called
dirt. The shoeblack dislodges matter wrongly
localized, replacing it by matter adjusted to
its environment. Government is the shoe-
black of society. It displaces rogues, who
are, by this image^ the mud on the boots of
civilization, and, by means of laws, keeps up

73

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK

the polish to the best of its abihty. There
are other shoeblacks besides Government.
The clergy, benevolent institutions, etc., en-
deavour to maintain the polish. Marriage is
the block on which the foot of Society rests,
and Education the Day and Martin that is
rubbed in to the due pitch of lustre. Rightly
considered, all business, all organizations —
except societies for the performance of three-
card tricks of every species — are simply
methods to remove dulness and substitute
brightness. It matters not, then, whether
the penny be paid into a horny, grimy hand
or be laid on a consecrated salver : the actual
shoeblack performs a service, lower in degree,
but of the same nature, as the highest arch-
bishop. Both are servants — ministers — and
both at the best can only do their duty.
That is something like the shoeblack's
melancholy, the perpetual anguish of the
soul in which he sees everything through a
medium of Day and Martin.'

When the shoeblack had finished his dis-
course, I noticed that both my boots, al-
though I had not seen the brushes employed
upon them, gleamed with a most lustrous
polish. I stooped down to examine them

74

AN IDEAL SHOEBLACK

more closely, and when I raised my head to
address the shoeblack again, I could see
him nowhere. I waited for several minutes,
expecting his return, but he and his box and
brushes had vanished like spectres. Deter-
mined to seek out the shoeblack on a future
occasion, I looked up as I turned into the
Strand to note the street in which our con-
versation had taken place. The name on
the wall — Limbo Street — I had never seen
before, nor have I seen it since ; for when I
returned some days later I could find no
street at all opening into that part of the
Strand.

75

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT.

ON a night in February, 1880, a tall, un-
womanly figure, thickly veiled, and
dressed in ill-fitting black, sped from the
booking-office to the bookstall, bought a
cheap edition of Byron, plunged through a
struggling crowd of passengers and porters,
and sprang into a third-class carriage, just
as the guard blew his whistle.

By the time the 10 p.m. train had puffed
out of the Waverley Station, Edinburgh, the
late passenger had recovered her breath and
lifted her veil. The face was that of a young
woman of not more than nineteen, and was
remarkable for its dark eyes, widely and
deeply set in a broad low brow. The mouth,
nose, and chin had a crude uncarved appear-
ance, which the yellow light of the carriage
lamp did nothing to dispel. A small black
hat sat among a loosely coiled mass of black

76

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

hair. The black silk gloves had been darned,
and the black dress and jacket were much
worn as well as badly made.

The girl glanced carelessly at the other
passengers, of whom there were three, and
then began to dip into Byron. She turned
over the pages, reading a line here and there ;
but shortly she laid the book aside, and gave
herself up to a furtive study of her com-
panions. Opposite her were two women,
with a large hamper on the seat between
them. The faces of these women had the
raw, florid hue of the porter-drinker ; their
eyes bulged and their mouths were loose.
Wrapped in cloaks and shawls, their feet
tucked up on the seat and pressing either
side of the hamper, they had settled them-
selves in the corners — for the night, ap-
parently. They stared at the girl out of
their lustreless, bulging eyes, blinked at the
lamp, dozed and stared, and blinked again.
On the same side of the compartment as the
girl sat the fourth passenger, a sailor, with a
big brown beard on a young face. He kept
clearing his throat and wetting his lips, as if
about to speak ; but whenever his eye caught
that of one of the others, he became suddenly

77

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

interested in the knotting of a handkerchief
which covered a cage he had beside him on
the seat.

In the sailor the girl took httle interest ;
but the women attracted and repelled her.
They were clearly prof essional people of some
kind. The girl's interest was expressed very
frankly in a rapid succession of glances. At
last, one of the women, more amused than
annoyed, smiled impudently at her. A deep
blush dyed the young woman's face imme-
diately ; she picked up her book and pressed
back into her corner.

The volume opened at ' The Waltz,' and
she read the first lines :

' Muse of the many-twinkling feet ! whose charms
Are now extended up from legs to arms ;
Terpsichore !— too long misdeem'd a maid —
Reproachful term — bestow'd but to upbraid —
Henceforth in all the bronze of brightness shine,
The least a vestal of the virgin Nine.
Far be from thee and thine the name of prude ;
Mock'd, yet triumphant ; sneer'd at, unsubdued ;
Thy legs must move to conquer as they fly,
If but thy coats are reasonably high ;
Thy breast, if bare enough, requires no shield ;
Dance fonh—sans armour thou shalt take the field,
And own — impregnable to most assaults.
Thy not too lawfully-begotten waltz.'

78

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

A smile of scorn curled her lip as she read.
She was thinking how strong it was, and how
very superior to Tennyson. Byron is still
the poet of the ' teens/ and this young
woman was a determined partisan. Although
she had read hardly any of Tennyson, she
had set up a Poet-Laureate of straw against
which she was constantly tilting. She knew
Tennyson had been dubbed ' Miss Alfred,'
and she relished calling him so with sarcastic
emphasis, and a deep satisfaction, as if she
had invented the phrase. She closed the
book over her finger, and lay back to enjoy
the feeling of power transferred to her senses
by the lines she had read. To be a rebel, to
do and say daring things — that was her
ambition. And had she not begun her
career in a very signal manner ? To run
away from home at nineteen, with nothing
but a copy of Byron and some biscuits — not
even a night-gown in a bag — and no um-
brella ! It was to beat the record, she
thought. In some future school history of
literature, admiring and envious girls should
read how Alison Hepburn — that was her
name — took her life into her own hands in
her nineteenth year.

79

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

She took from her pocket a dumpy roll of
manuscript. Undoing the ribbon with which
it was tied, she glanced over the pages to see
that they were all there and in their right
order ; she also looked lovingly at the small
clear writing, and the old English letters
of the title-page — 'A Godless Universe, and
other Poems, by Alison Hepburn.' It would
make a sensation, she had no doubt of that.
There could be no difficulty. A publisher
would buy the copyright from her for a good
sum, or she would have to wait for her
fortune until the book had been brought out.
She would be quite satisfied with either
alternative. Had she not nine pounds in
Scotch notes in her bosom ? She blushed a
little at the fancy picture of herself setting
out to conquer the world, with nothing but
biscuits and a copy of Byron. She really
could make no claim to be considered a wild
romantic person, possessed as she was of a
small capital and a valuable manuscript.
The blood mounted to her head, and a feel-
ing of security, which even she perceived to
be extraordinary, overcame her. She closed
her eyes, and, broad awake, dreamt for an
hour of a fabulous income from ' A Godless

So

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

Universe ' ; of marriages with handsome
young noblemen ; and of unexampled world-
wide fame. As her brain cooled, she thought :
' At an}^ rate, I won't fare any worse than
Campbell ; he got half a crown a line for
'The Pleasures of Hope.' That would

make I have two thousand five hundred

lines. Eight half-crowns to a pound ; eights
in twenty-five — three. That would make
over three hundred pounds. That would
keep me for three years ; so it's all right.'

She picked up Byron again, for her spirits
were falling rapidly, and selected a passage
in * Cain,' which she read with muttering
lips.

' Souls who dare use their immortality —
Souls who dare look the Omnipotent tyrant in
His everlasting face, and tell him that
His evil is not good.'

The impulse of these verses, if they can be

called so, was enough, in her overwrought

condition, to send up the mercury. She

I laid aside the book, and sat erect, her head

poised defiantly.

' Souls who dare use their immortality.'

That's what she was doing. Her brief
life came before her, and she seemed to look

81 0

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

down on her past from a high pinnacle. It
was all a mystery. How had she come to
be born the daughter of a small stationer in
a street off Leith Walk ? The force that
was she might have been Sappho, might
have been Mary Queen of Scots. A httle
dingy house with close, low-ceilinged rooms,
and a mixed odour of the wood of lead
pencils and the lamp-black of newspapers ;
the gray stone hill of houses between Leith
and Edinburgh, the very special haunt of
mist and east wind, and noisy all day and
half the night with cars and waggons ; a
locality and condition upon which even
shabby-genteel people looked down — into
this, of all environments, she, Alison Hep-
burn, had been born. It was injurious and
insulting. And yet that wasn't half the
enormity of her circumstances. Her father
was a solemn, rigid Scotch Puritan, sincerely
devout, she knew, upright, and of some
dignity of character ; but on that account all
the more unworthy to be her father. For
what had he done ? He had married a
woman unfit to be the mother of anybody.
Her face grew dark at this thought. Her
mother had been chosen by her father

82

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

because of her strength of mind, her manag-
ing power, and her rehgious disposition.
Beauty and temperament she had none.
She was ill-made, and her bones were dis-
proportionately small. ' Visiting the iniquity
of the fathers upon the children ? Yes,' she
thought ; ' it is iniquitous in a common-look-
ing, commonplace man to marry an ugl}^,
weak-bodied woman. My father believes
that the heathen will be damned, even
although they have never heard of the Gospel.
Well, then, although he had never heard of
the proper conditions of marriage, he de-
serves to be damned for having perpetuated
ugliness, ill-shaped bones, and ill-conditioned
blood. Oh ! I would give every pinch of
brain I have to be sweet and beautiful, with
rounded, warm -tinted flesh, drawing all
men's eyes ! But I shall make men adore
me for my poetry, or, at least, for the fame
and money my poetry shall bring.'

Again she made her calculations, con-
cluding this time with the assurance that,
even if she got only one hundred pounds, the
price Alexander Smith had received for * A
Life Drama,' she would still be able to over-
come the world. A hundred pounds would

83

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

give her a year. In that time, and in London,
she could write a great poem ; and in that
time, also, her fame would have spread, and
she would receive a very much larger sum
for her second venture.

' And if,' she thought, as her depression
deepened — ' if the publisher will not give me
anything, and I have to wait, or if I have
difficulty in finding a publisher, I have these
nine pounds, which will keep me easily for
three months, and during that time I can
get an engagement at a theatre.'

Yes, of course, she was forgetting about
that, the second string to her bow. Why
hadn't she brought her prize for elocution
with her ? It would be certain to influence
a manager. Then her spirits leapt up again,
and she went over to herself her two best
recitations — Scott's 'Battle of Flodden' from
' Marmion,' and Aytoun's * Death of Mont-
rose.' With these she electrified herself, and
before the excitement caused by them had
passed, she fell into a doze.

Something tugging at her dress wakened
her. Opening her eyes, and remembering at
once where she was, she was amazed to find
on the seat beside her, and with two paws

84

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

on her skirt, a white dog, long-nosed and
woolly, munching her biscuits. First of all,
she picked up her manuscript, fastened it,
and replaced it in her pocket. Perhaps it
had been looked at while she dozed ; the idea
hurt her. She thought not, however ; for the
other three passengers were all sound asleep.

She felt a little afraid of the dog, who kept
a sharp eye on her while he continued eating
her biscuits ; but before she could make up
her mind how to deal with him, a harsh,
sharp cry, very audible even above the clank-
ing of the train, went off in the compartment :
' Heave away !'

The dog, frightened out of his wits, sprang
on to the hamper, and began to whine. Again
the shriek was heard, louder and harsher than
before, and the dog leapt, yelping, at one of
the women, who started up in alarm.

* Oh,' she said, looking about the carriage
suspiciously, * it's only you, is it ? You
naughty, naughty Lou-lou !'

The woman cuffed the dog, not very
severely, and then placed him in the hamper.

' I hope,' she said, with her impudent
smile, as she fastened the lid securely, * the
dog didn't frighten you ?'

85

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

' Oh no !' said Alison, flushing.

' Heave away !'

' What can that be ?' exclaimed the woman
who had spoken already.

By this time the commotion in the com-
partment had awakened the other woman
and the sailor. The latter, looking very
shamefaced, wetted his lips, and said :

' I'm very sorry, ladies. It's only Jugger-
naut. I meant to tell you that he might
start paying out language ; but I couldn't
somehow get the anchor up. Juggernaut's
cut the cable, as it were. I'm not naturally
backward, but just come off a two-years'
voyage, and wondering to see ladies. That's
all. Why, ma'am, for four months we never
touched port ; and we used to lower a boat
in a calm, and pull round to have a look at
the figurehead — the Aurora, a fine bust of a
woman, but nothing like real flesh and blood.'

* Heave away ! Tumble up !'

* He's very angry,' said the sailor, ' at
being kept in the dark so long. I thought
he might sleep; but the motion of the train's
new to him, as he never was in one before.
He'd better have it out ; so, asking your
pardon, here's Juggernaut.'

86

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

Whisking the handkerchief from the
cage, the sailor displayed an Amazon green
parrot.

* I got him in Rio, quite a youngster, and
christened him in Calcutta. He christened
himself, you may say ; for Juggernaut was
the first word he said.'

'Juggernaut ! Now, Renzo was no sailor.
The cook's a blooming Chinaman !' said the
parrot.

* He's got a lot to say. I think missy
had better put her fingers in her ears,'
said the sailor, looking apologetically at
Alison.

The girl moved uneasily, but kept her eyes
on the parrot, who glared about with an un-
changing look of clownish surprise — the stage
surprise of the low comedian.

' Damn her eyes !' went on the parrot.
'Splice! Aurora — Auro-ra! Beautiful Jugger-
naut ! Keel-haul the cook ! Keel-haul the
cook ! The cook's a blooming Chinaman !'

' He's going to say all he knows,' said the
sailor, looking again towards Alison. ' Wal-
nuts wouldn't stop him.'

Shrieking maledictions, the bird hopped
to the lowest bar in its cage. After a few

87

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

moments' silence, it lowered its head, stretched
out its neck, and, fixing Alison with one of
its astonished eyes, uttered very distinctly a
string of oaths, scraps of prayers, and tags
of songs. The women laughed, and Alison
hid her face behind Byron.

' I'm Juggernaut — beautiful Juggernaut !
The cook's a blooming Chinaman !'

Having wound up its oration with these
words, the parrot resumed its night-perch,
picked three feathers in slow succession from
one of its wings, yawned, and disposed itself
to sleep.

' He has what you call a vocabulary,' said
the sailor, readjusting his handkerchief about
the cage. * Where are we ?' he added, as
the train began to slacken.

Alison looked out, and saw empty rainy
streets shining darkly in the many-shadowed
lights of the gas-lamps ; below the level of
the railway, and also sloping above it, long
undulations and precipitous hills of houses
wheeled past the slowing train.

* Why, it's Newcastle already !' exclaimed
the sailor. * Well, good-night, asking your
pardon for Juggernaut.'

Five minutes after the departure of the

88

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

sailor, the train moved out of the station.
AHson thought they were going back to be
shunted ; but as the speed increased, she
imagined that perhaps there had been some
mistake.

* Am I all right for London ?' she asked.
' All right,' answered one of the women.

' We seem to be going back,' rejoined
Alison.

' We go out of Newcastle as we go in,'
said the woman.

* Couldn't we go right through ?' asked
Alison.

' How should I know ?' retorted the woman,
tucking herself up in her corner as her com-
panion had already done in hers.

Alison was hurt a little by the rebuff; but
one thing pleased her — her fellow-travellers
were not in the least concerned and curious
about her. She had been apprehensive of
inquisitive companions on her journey, and
had meant to talk of going to see an aunt
and of luggage in the van. It was now
evident that there was nothing unusual in
her appearance or her mode of travelling,
and she took her present experience as a
prophecy of exemption from molestation in

89

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

her enterprise. Nevertheless, she felt very
wretched. The awkward sailor, the foul-
mouthed parrot, the two sordid women
grunting and snoring beside her, the cold
raw night, and the monotonous rush and
jangle of the train, oppressed her like a
nightmare. The intolerance with which she
regarded everything that disturbed her in-
tense self-preoccupation found vent in scowls
and muttered execrations : ' What a beastly
train ! These dirty old hags !' She closed
her eyes tightly, and endeavoured to compel
her thoughts into the desired track; but her
efforts were in vain, her immediate surround-
ings having gradually filled her nerves as a
coil of wire is charged with electricity. At
last she had recourse to Byron. She read
here and there feverishly, and then searched
out the passage in ' Cain ' that had helped
her already :

' Souls who dare use their immortality.'

She kept to that line ; she struck it over
and over as a piano-tuner strikes a note ;
she twisted and turned its meaning about
until it said again the thing she wanted.
She was, indeed, daring to use her immor-

90

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

tality. She was immortal — not, she thought,
with a curl of her lip, in the old ridiculous
sense ; she carried her immortality in her
pocket. This that she had written could never
die ; it would go sounding on in hearts and
brains, echoing through the ages. Being an
immortal, she had a right to behave at once
as an immortal ; therefore she freed herself
from parental control, and, a phrase she loved,
took her life into her own hands. In thought
she had been free for years, and now she
must have perfect freedom. She had done,
and was now going to London to do more
effectually, what she had been sent into the
world for : sent by Nature, by something ;
certainly not by God — oh, not by God in
any understanding of the word. Alison Hep-
burn was rabid with Theophobia, a disease
of young minds not uncommon in countries
where religious bigotry prevails. She was
flying from what was to her a hateful idea
of God, represented by strict parents, and
by a wretched Sabbath of three long services.
She was flying from John Knox. Of her
poetry no specimen shall be given ; it was
written, some in blank verse, some in ballad
measure, and some in the manner of the

9>

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

rhymed version of the Psalms used in Scot-
land.

Between Newcastle and Doncaster, Ahson's
spirits fell far below zero. She began to
realize how much she was depending on the
immediate receipt of a large sum for her
manuscript, and what a forlorn hope it was.
She saw that she had been imagining, not
believing, herself successful. She thought
for the first time of the consternation at
home, and for a brief moment realized that
she cared a little for her father and mother,
and that they loved her. She peered out of
the window, but saw on the black screen of
night — what she wished to forget. She re-
turned to Byron, but the famous verse was
ineffective :

' Souls who dare use their immortality.'

It was nonsense ; life consisted of an hour,
a moment at a time. She read the next
line scornfully :

' Souls who dare look the Omnipotent tyrant in.'

Some of her hnes had weak endings, but
none so weak as that. Besides, ' It's just
havers,' she thought ; * because it was only

92

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

when people began to disbelieve in an
Omnipotent tyrant that they began to be
cheeky to Him.' Was the Venice butcher's
wife omnipotent ? No ; yet she had been
Byron's mistress. Were her father and
mother omnipotent ? No ; and yet — her
head swam.

Before they arrived at Doncaster her
travelling companions, the women with the
bulging eyes, produced sandwiches and
bottles of stout, and liberated their poodle.
Alison ate some of her biscuits and gave
some to the dog.

' You mustn't deprive yourself,' said one
of the women, offering her a sandwich,
which she took.

* Won't you have a drop of stout ?' asked
the other.

She swallowed half a tumblerful eagerly.
It was the first alcoholic liquor she had ever
drunk, having been brought up a total
abstainer. She found the taste nauseous,
but the effect amazed her, and she began
to talk.

* I'm running away from home,' she said,
with a cheerful smile, persuading herself that
she felt nice and comfortable.

93

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

* We know that, my dear,' said one of the
women.

* How do you know ?' she asked, startled.
' Everything about you tells us.'

' Do girls often run away from home ?'
'Half of them do. We did.'

* It's quite common, then,' said Alison,
with an air of disgust.

* And stupid,' added one of the women,
' unless you're very good-looking. If I'd
stayed at home and kept straight, I'd have
had a house of my own and a decent shop-
keeper for a husband, and ease and plenty.
Instead of which '

She shrugged her shoulders.

' The Sisters Tomboy with their wonderful
poodle Lou-lou,' said the other. ' Have some
more stout.'

Alison hesitated, but drank off another
half-tumblerful.

' Do you know,' she said, ' this is the iirst
intoxicating liquor I have ever tasted ? I was
made to join a Band of Hope when I was
eight, and ever since I was twelve I have
wanted to break the pledge, but couldn't
think of going into a public-house. Thank
you very much.'

94

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

The Sisters Tomboy grinned at each other
and said nothing.

' I'm going on to London,' said Alison.

* We go out at Doncaster.'

Alison stretched herself on the seat, feeling
in the humour for a good talk ; but while
she was still considering how far she might
consult the Sisters Tombo}' regarding her
procedure in London, she fell asleep, and
so soundly that the stoppage at Doncaster
failed to waken her, although the shock of
the train starting again did. She rubbed
her eyes. The Sisters Tomboy had gone,
and two men were in the carriage. They
sat opposite each other, bent forward and
absorbed in conversation. One of them was
old and heavily built ; his eyes were small,
gray, and dull ; he had a dirty-white beard
and moustache ; his puffed cheeks and
drooping nose were brick-red. She noted
his silk hat, brown and rough with age,
and broken-brimmed ; his frayed and greasy
clothes, and thick watch - chain of brass.
The other, a younger man, was better
dressed : his silk hat was new and glossy ;
he had sparkling rings on his fingers, and
his watch-chain seemed to be of gold. But

95

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

the man himself was uglier even than his
companion. His black eyes, protruding and
bloodshot, seemed about to blaze up and
burst out of his head. His shaved chin,
puckered like a many-eyed potato, receded
among coarse black whiskers ; his nose was
swollen and red, his cheeks blotched, and
his brow of a sickly white. This loathsome
creature had no voice ; with swollen veins
and continuous restrained gesture he emitted
husky, staccato whispers, to which the other
replied in soft, oily tones. Neither paid any
heed to Alison, but she watched them, fasci-
nated. The sailor, with his parrot, belonged
to a world she understood in some degree ;
so did the Sisters Tomboy ; but what were
these ? From what rookery had these night-
birds issued, and on what mission ?

At last the two men, having settled the
point in dispute, lounged back into their
corners. The younger one looked at him-
self in the window and rubbed his nose
fiercely. Suddenly remembering, he sat up,
and produced from behind him a half-bottle
of port wine ; a tumbler ; and a white hand-
kerchief in which were wrapped two sponge-
cakes. He filled the tumbler, and handed

96

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

it with one of the cakes to his companion,
who drank off the wine slowly, but without
a pause. The younger man took the rest of
the wine ; then both ate their sponge-cakes.
There was no pledging each other ; nothing
at all was said about what they were
doing; some common object preoccupied
them intensely.

When the sponge-cakes were finished, the
younger man took from his pocket a flat
bottle containing whisky. This having been
emptied, the tumbler and both bottles were
flung out of the window, and the conversa-
tion resumed. The two men talked all the
way to York, the elder rolling out long
sentences, soft and oily, the younger growing
huskier in his whispers, and* less restrained
in gesture. Alison could not make out a
single word, but she watched them, hardly
conscious of thought or feeling. As the train
stopped at York Station both men became
silent, and the younger stared at AHson.

' By God !' she heard him croak in the
lessening noise of the slowing train, ' she's
uglier awake than asleep.'

* So much the better for her,' said the other.

She wondered vaguely for a moment if

97 7

ALISOxN HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

she had been the subject of their whole
conversation. But that was impossible,
for both resumed their look of intense pre-
occupation the moment they had uttered
their rude remarks, and before the train
stopped they jumped out and walked away
quickly in a purposeful manner.

All the way from Doncaster to York these
men had seemed like a hideous vision, utterly
unreal and impossible. At the last moment,
in their entire loathsomeness and brutahty,
they had trampled straight across her heart ;
and they had done it with the utmost indif-
ference, as she herself in a preoccupied mood
might crush a worm visible in her path, but
unperceived by her inner sense. She had
often told herself she was plain, but nobody
had ever called her ugly before. She had
understood the absence of comment — or had
she not ? Perhaps people would have talked
to her of her appearance had she been onl}'
plain-looking. Had she heard the truth for
the first time ? Was she ugly ?

She began to pace the compartment, im-
patient till the train should start. There was
suspense in the stoppage — an added misery.
The guard, passing, saw her.

98

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

' Twenty minutes here,' he said, opening
the door.

* Oh !' she exclaimed, and got out.

She was very stiff and very cold, and
walked about the platform to warm herself.
She thought how comfortable a bed is — to
lie down secure, with no concern for the
morrow, in her father's house. She walked
more quickly ; she ran as if to escape her
thoughts. She searched about for a clock.
A few minutes to four ! How had her father
and mother spent the night ?

The platform was almost deserted. One
or two groups of men in caps and heavy
overcoats stood at the doors of smoking
compartments. Where had the passengers
gone to ? To her surprise, never having
travelled at night before, she saw that the
refreshment-room was open. She went in
and drank some coffee. There were over a
score of people eating and drinking at the
bar. The rattle of cups and saucers, the
steaming tea and coffee, the sharp orders,
chatter, an occasional spluttering laugh, and
the bright light, soothed her, and then made
her heart ache again. She remained in the
refreshment-room until a porter announced

99

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

that the train was on the point of departure.
In the rush, she made up her mind to get
into a compartment with some cheerful
people if she could ; but her heart failed her
as she ran along the platform, and saw the
others jumping in among their snug wraps,
newspapers, books, open bags — the encamp-
ments of expert travellers. She got into an
empty compartment, probably — she couldn't
be sure — the one she had left ; and from
York to Grantham, from Grantham to Peter-
borough, she had it to herself.

Her dream was ended — her mad folly had
run its course ; but the train went on. The
rattling glass in either end of the compart-
ment reflected her ugl}', haggard face. She
felt as if the universe were one immense
block of adamant, through which the train
was gnawing and drilling a way for itself like
a fierce, instinctive worm. Half choked, she
let down one of the sashes, and looked out.
The cold wind rushed at her throat ; but the
world was there still — a drifting blackness
above, a rushing blackness below, the lower
blackness branded blacker in spots and
stripes where trees and hedges clustered and
stretched. She leaned out of the window

lOO

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

until she was chilled to the bone ; then she
raised the sash, and lay down on the seat
with her back to the engine.

' By God ! she's uglier awake than asleep.'

' So much the better for her.'

These words kept burning into her brain.
Plain she had guessed herself to be, but with
wonderful eyes and an irresistible expression
when she chose ; and then her cloud of hair,
on which she could sit ! She rose up, tore
off her hat, uncoiled her hair, shook it about
her shoulders, and looked in the window ;
looked her sweetest, smiled — her teeth were
good — and said soft nothings to an imaginary
lover. She coiled and uncoiled her hair,
pressed her face to the window to stare into
the depths of her eyes, started back at arm's
length — to the middle of the compartment,
to the opposite end — and looked at herself
from every point of view and possible dis-
tance. She was angular, pale, and her features
were very irregular ; but surely she was not
ugly ! She assured herself that, over certain
temperaments, she was bound to exercise an
irresistible fascination. She recited, she sang,
she danced ; she grew warm, her courage
rose, and she laughed aloud. Hastily doing

lOI

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

up her hair, and putting on her hat again,
she picked up Byron, and sat down in the
middle of one seat with her feet on the other.
She read a piece of * Manfred,' a piece of
' Childe Harold,' a piece of ' Don Juan,' but
without pleasure, without a transference of
energy. She grew drowsy, and had to close
the book. Soon, however, as she shut her
eyes and tried to sleep, her fancy was on the
alert. She saw her father's stern but not
unkindly face ; and her mother's, worn and
deeply lined, with all the hardness gone out
of it. That was unendurable. She sat up
again. She stamped up and down the com-
partment to keep herself warm. She set her
teeth ; she grew dogged. The train was going
on ; she must go on. She would find a pub-
lisher ; she would go on the stage ; she would
make money ; she would grow famous, and
have men at her feet. The blood mounted
to her head, and the dream of success held
her again, although with no firm grip, till the
train stopped at Grantham. As soon as it
resumed its journey, the memory of her last
travelling companions returned.

* By God ! she's uglier awake than
asleep.'

102

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

' So much the better for her.'

All the way to Peterborough, her sense of
her own lack of physical charm filled her with
dull pain. Why was she not beautiful, with
rich blood and a gracious body ? Why was
she not as beautiful as she often felt — as she
always felt in the presence of beautiful things,
visible or heard : paintings, or sunsets,- or
music, or the sound of waters ? Wrath pos-
sessed her again ; her father and mother, and
all the unlovely circumstances of her life, were
severally indicted and condemned.

Day had broken for some time before she
took note of it. Veils and scraps of mist
hung about the leafless woods ; rags and
tufts had caught in the hedges, and widths
and stretches of it lay on the fields like
immense webs wringing wet, and spread out
to bleach. The gray dawn, labouring with
clouds and the stubborn wintry night, got
into the sky by stealth. Her compartment
appeared like a world within a world, lit by
the ghastly twilight of the yellow gas-lamp
and the dull beams of morning. Sick with
cold, hunger, and discomfort, and exhausted
by an emotional conflict of nearly eight hours,
she felt her spirits, like the yellow gas-lamp,

103

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

grow pale in the new day. She suffered
passively for a time, till her misery became
unbearable. Then she let down one of the
sashes, and flung Byron out of the window.
The rehef this action brought was of short
duration ; but while she was still fingering
her manuscript in her pocket with thoughts
of tearing it up, the train stopped at Peter-
borough. A countryman and some business
men came into the compartment beside her.
They seemed to her to bring with them a
pleasant odour of breakfast, of cheerful par-
lours, and warm kitchens, where the ruddy
firelight shone on gleaming dish- covers. She
thought of breakfast at home — hot rolls and
the fragrance of coffee in the sitting-room ;
hot-pressed newspapers in the shop. She
shuddered, and shut her eyes tight. For
several minutes she sat quivering like a
creature bound and gagged, and in the grip
of some torture engine. At last, quite worn
out, she fell into a half-doze, half-swoon,
which continued until the ticket -collector
aroused her at Finsbury Park.

' Is this London ?' she said.

' Yes,' replied the collector.

* Do I get out here, then ?'

104

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

' What part of London do you want ?'

* Does the train go on ?'

* Yes ; to the terminus.'

' Ah, yes, the terminus. I'll go to the
terminus.'

In her abject state the mere word ' ter-
minus ' did her good. Here was something
that had an end. Probably, if the means
had been to her hand when she stepped out
of the train at King's Cross, she would have
killed herself.

There were not very many passengers.
Two or three of these were met by friends,
and formed little glowing knots, with hearty
hand -shakings and kisses. Bustle about
luggage, the getting into cabs, and the
giving of addresses, had never before seemed
to Alison significant of anything except the
pettiness of life. Now her feeling was that
no possible detail of interest that attaches
one to life can be petty. She saw a well-
dressed girl, not much older than herself,
step into a hansom, and tip the porter who
handed up her portmanteau and told the
driver where to go. To possess luggage and
to drive to an address was to be acquainted,
and to have affairs of business or pleasure.

105

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

She, Alison Hepburn, was utterly alone, the
victim of a mad dream that had swallowed
her and cast her up again, a half-digested
morsel. Her soul would bear the marks of
the eating acid for ever. It was clear to her
as she stood, forlorn and shivering, on the
platform at King's Cross, that there were
hardly a dozen passable lines in her whole
manuscript. A crimson flame lit her face as
she thought of her confident expectations a
few hours back — if not at the rate of Camp-
bell's ' Pleasures of Hope,' then surel}' at the
rate of Smith's ' Life Drama !' She walked
quickly down the platform, pulling her nine
greasy Scotch notes out of her bodice ; but
she did not leave the station.

It was one of the most dismal parts of
London on which she looked out — the
junction of Euston Road, Gray's Inn Road,
Pentonville Road, and York Road — and
there was a fog. Two men looked out with
her ; they were about to separate, and they
spoke for a minute.

' Then, you'll have that stuff ready for me
by half-past twelve ?' said one, who was tall,
well dressed, and well looking, and who
spoke very pleasantly.

106

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

* Yes,' said the other, short, shabby,
husky ; * between that and one.'

' Oh, I must have it by one. You must
bring it to me not later than twelve-
fifty.'

' That's impossible,' said the other
doggedly. ' Send or come at half-past
twelve. If it's ready then, you'll have it.
If not, you or your messenger must wait.'

'Where will you be ?'

* rU be in the Manuscript Room.'

* Very well'

* What a beastly fog !'

* I always like a fog,' said the well-dressed
man.

* Manuscript Room.'

* Manuscript Room.'

She knew she had overheard the talk of
two men in some literary by-path— some
lion and his jackal. The jackal stepped
into a green 'bus that drifted into sight and
was gone ; for during the few seconds she
had stood at the exit of the station the fog
had become a dense sooty cloud. She had
been aware of a tumult of busses, cars,
waggons, and cabs, and had noticed the four
cross-roads when she first looked out. Now

107

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

she felt as if she were occupying a hole in an
immense dripping, dirty sponge. Some yellow
dregs of light were suspended in the filthy
moisture, and there was a muffled sound in
her ears. She looked after the lion, who
had returned into the station. He went to
the cab-rank, walking with such ease and
firmness, she thought. She had not seen
the kind of man before — not among the
Edinburgh lawyers, or the actors, whom she
had watched at the theatre doors ; not in
Princes Street, and not at Aberdour in the
summer holidays. He looked to her a high
creature from a different sphere. She saw
his face distinctly, in spite of the fog, when
the cab passed out of the station, for she
bent forward and stared. He noticed her,
and looked back, with a mixed expression of
surprise and amusement, a touch of scorn,
an affectation of indifference. It was a quaint,
wild face he saw ; pale, begrimed ; glaring,
fiery-eyed, out of a tangle of black hair.
She saw a strong chin, a small firm mouth, a
straight nose, and black-blue eyes ; she saw
yellow hair and a smooth fair face, and she
hungered for them.

As soon as the fog had engulfed the cab,

xo8

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

she replaced seven of her notes in her bosom,
and turned back into the station. A porter
directed her to the booking-office.

* When is there a train for Edinburgh ?'
she asked of the clerk.

* In five minutes.'

' Oh ! Give me a third single, then.'
She laid down the two notes she had in
her hand, and the clerk paused in the act of
stamping the ticket. He picked up the
notes, and held them close to the gas. She
wondered what was to happen. Was she to
be arrested for something ?

* These are only worth nineteen and six-
pence here,' he said.

' Oh ! I'll give you another, then,' she
rejoined, relieved, and not thinking what she
was saying.

' You don't need. Instead of thirty-two
and eightpence, it will cost you thirty-three
and eightpence, as it were.'

* I see,' she said.

When she had received the ticket and her
change, she walked about the departure
platform in an aimless way. The porter who
had shown her to the booking-office, having
heard her destination, said to her :

109

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

* Beg pardon, lady, but you'll miss your
train if you don't mind.'

' Oh, where is it ?'

* This,' he said, opening a third-class car-
riage at her side.

She gave the porter half a crown and went
in. Hardly had she seated herself, when the
train started.

Her journey back to Edinburgh was one
long blank misery, with here and there a
vivid flash of pain. Worn out with excite-
ment, and weak with cold and lack of food
and lack of sleep, she sat motionless in
a corner of the compartment. Passengers
came and went at the various stations.
Sometimes she was alone, sometimes the
compartment was full ; it was all alike to
her. She slept no part of the way, but a
kind of trance held her, in which she was
conscious only of defeat and self-contempt,
except at intervals, when she heard inhuman
voices say, ' By God ! she's uglier awake
than asleep !' ' So much the better for her' ;
when she thought of her father and mother ;
when the face of the lion mocked her out of
the fog ; or when she turned and stung her-
self with the taunt that her flight was a piece

1 lO

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

of mad folly, because she was weak and ugly
— beauty and strength would have gone on
undismayed. Her mind had been so fully
occupied, and her thoughts had wandered so
far back and so far forward during the up-
journey, that on arriving at London it had
seemed as if she had been travelling for
weeks. But at the end of the way back,
when she heard one of the passengers say,
' Yes, this is Edinburgh,' she could scarcely
believe her ears. Physically and mentally
exhausted, for her the hours and the miles
had slipped past like minutes and footsteps,
uncounted and unnoted.

She came out at the Haymarket instead
of going on to the Waverley Station, because
the former was further from her home. She
had determined suddenly that her brother
and sister ought to be asleep before she
returned, and it was still nearly two hours
to their bed - time. At the Haymarket
Station she was half an hour from home,
and so that disposed of a quarter of the time
she had to wait.

She took a seat on a bench on the plat-
form. Her mind was a blank — numb, like a
bloodless finger. After a few minutes she

1 1 1

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

went to the refreshment-room, hardly know-
ing what she was doing, and drank some tea.
As she had eaten very little for twenty-four
hours, the tea, inferior station infusion as it
was, had a powerful effect. Her nerves grew
tense at once ; she felt light-headed, and
went out into the street like one walking
on air, as the saying is. The raw east wind
was grateful to her senses ; it smelt of home,
and carried also the fragrance of the romantic
dreams and high thoughts she had been ac-
customed to weave as she walked in the
windy evenings. Breathing hard and step-
ping quickly, she soon reached the west end
of Princes Street. The mass of the Castle
and the Castle rock, faintly but firmly out-
lined against the night sky, like a piece of
ancient darkness that had grown solid and
taken shape, seemed about to overwhelm
her. Her eye wavered along the ridge of
the High Street ; the tall dark houses
trembled and grew steady ; ghostly lights
flickered up behind them from shop-windows
and lurked about the shadowy crown of
St. Giles. Then she remembered Jenny
Macintosh for the first time during her
unfortunate exploit. Near the top of one

T 12

ALISON HEPBURiX'S EXPLOIT

of these high houses Jenny Macintosh Hved
alone in one little room, and three or four
times a week, often every night in the week,
Ahson was in the habit of visiting her.

This Jenny Macintosh was an old woman
near her hundredth year, and belonged to
a type now almost extinct. Her stepmother
had sent her from home to be a cowgirl in
her eighth year. After a number of years in
the country she had come to Edinburgh as
a domestic servant, and had in course of
time married, borne children, and been left
a childless widow. At sixty she had had to
begin the world over again. Tireless and
honest, she obtained plenty of work as a
charwoman, and it was in that capacity that
she became associated with the Hepburns.
She had worked for Mr. Hepburn's mother,
and when he married she stepped into the
position of what is now called a mother's
help. From her seventy-fifth to her eighty-
second year she had cleaned several offices
before nine every morning, and had then
gone for the rest of the day to assist
Mrs. Hepburn with her children, always
retaining a room of her own in the High
Street. In her eighty-second year she was

113 8

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

disabled by an accident to her arm, and
inquiries having been made about her in
hospital, and her great age discovered, a
small pension from an old bequest had been
settled on her for the rest of her hfe.

In the parish school and in the communi-
cants' class, Jenny, although scarcely able
to read, had learned by heart the Shorter
Catechism, several passages of Scripture,
and the Psalms in the rhymed version used
in Scotland. Thus equipped, she had faced
unflinchingly her long hard battle. One of
her chief delights had been, and still was, to
repeat the questions, or * carritches.' She
had employed them as lullabies, and had
found them peculiarly efficacious in quieting
Alison ; and now Alison still came to hear
her say them. It was not conscious affec-
tion that had led Alison to call regularly on
her old nurse ; the visit to Jenny, a vahd
reason with her parents, enabled her to go
out every night if she chose ; there was
always the walk through the crowded
streets, up Leith Walk and over the North
Bridge, and sometimes she went aside along
Princes Street.

With the remembrance of Jenny Macin-

1x4

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

tosh, Alison became at once, and for the
first time, acutely sensible of what she had
done ; she had cut all the cords that bound
her to her past life. That these could be
reunited and the wound healed, she hoped —
she knew, indeed ; but the severance had
taken place.

In a moment it flashed on her that perhaps
Jenny Macintosh knew nothing about her
exploit. She breathed a little more freely.
She had paid her regular visit to Jenny the
night before at eight ; had reached home
again about nine ; had found at half-past
nine when she went to set the supper — she
had planned it so — that there was no butter
in the house, and, going out professedly to
buy some, had taken the train to London.
Had she not returned from Jenny's, her
father or her mother would, doubtless, have
gone there at once ; as it was, possibly
neither of them had gone. She would begin,
then, in the High Street ; or, rather, she
hoped to find that there was no need to
begin again with Jenny — at least, so far as
Jenny was concerned.

She found the old charwoman sitting as
usual in a low arm-chair beside the fire,

115

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

dressed in her gray wincey gown and blue
checked apron, with a white cap, or * mutch,'
on her head. She was now a very small
woman. Her left arm, the disabled one,
rested on a Bible and a Shorter Catechism
lying on her lap, and with her right hand
she kept polishing the arm of her chair. As
for her face, it consisted of wrinkles, a large
Roman nose, and sharp blue eyes. The
furniture in her room comprised a chest of
drawers, a bed, a trunk, a shelf with dishes,
a cupboard, a table, and three chairs. A
faded carpet covered the floor. There was
nothing in the shape of a picture to be seen,
and no ornament anywhere. In the centre
of the stone mantelpiece stood a candlestick;
at one end was a salt-box, at the other a
wooden bowl containing some coppers.

As Alison entered the little room, she felt
very safe ; she had come out of a wild en-
chanted land of storms and spectres into an
accustomed quiet place.

' Is that you, Elison ?' said Jenny, looking
round with her sharp blue eyes that saw very
little.

' Yes, Jenny,' replied AHson tranquilly.
* How are you to-night ?'

ii6

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

* Juist aboot it. Yer faither was here this
mornin'. I couldna mak' oot juist what he
wantit. He seem't concerned aboot ye, lassie.
He speired if ye aye cam' here still. What for
wad he be thinkin'ye gaed other gates, noo ?'

* I'm sure I don't know,' said Alison.

* Ye're sune the nicht, lassie,' said Jenny,
after a pause.

* Ay,' said Alison. * How's your rheu-
matism, Jenny?'

'Juist aboot it. But I dinna compleen.
It's a' tae remind me that I didna come here
tae bide, though I think sometimes the boat-
man's forgotten me. We'll hae the carritches
noo.'

The old woman handed Alison the Shorter
Catechism.

* Where did we leave off?' asked Alison.

* The twentieth carritch — the estate of sin
and misery.'

* " Who is the Redeemer of God's elect ?" '
Jenny clasped her hands, closed her eyes,

and gave the answer. She spoke correctly,
except for some vowels ; very slowly, very
reverently, and in a kind of rhythm, to which
she kept time with sweeping inclinations of
her whole body.

117

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

' '* The onnly Redeemer of Goad's elect is
the Loard Jesus Christ, who, being the
Eternal Son of Goad, became man, and so
was, and continueth to be. Goad and man
in two distinct natures and waun person for
iver." '

' " How did Christ, being the Son of God,
become man ?" '

This, the twenty-second * carritch,' was a
special favourite of Jenny's. She became
excited ; her whole body trembled, her voice
rose, and she delivered the answer triumph-
antly in a passion of belief and wonder.

* " Christ, the Son of Goad, became man by
taking to Himself a true body and a reason-
able soul, being conceived — by the power —
of the Holy Ghost — in the woamb — of the
Virgin Mary — and born of her, yet — without
—sin !" '

Alison went on mechanically :

* " What offices doth Christ " '

' Bide a wee V cried Jenny, still shaking
with excitement. 'Aye! Umphumph! Mar-
vellous ! How excellent in all the earth,
Loard, our Loard, is Thy name ! Bide a
wee !' she repeated, when Alison was about
to resume. After a minute, Jenny said :

ii8

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

* That'll dae for carritches. Read the four-
teenth o' John.'

Alison took the Bible from Jenny's knee,
and replaced the Catechism.

' " Let not your heart be troubled," ' she read.
' " Ye believe in God, believe also in Me. In
My Father's house are many mansions : if it
were not so, I would have told you ; for I go
to prepare a place for you. And if I go and
prepare a place for you, I will come again,
and receive you unto Myself ; that where I
am, there ye may be also." '

* Ay !' said Jenny. * That was written for
me — even for me. Ye needna read ony
mair.'

* Good-night, then, Jenny,' said Alison.

* Gude-nicht. Ye'U be lookin' in the morn's
nicht ?'

' Maybe.'

' If we're spar't. Gude-nicht.'

Without either kiss or clasp Alison came
and went. Jenny, indeed, would have mis-
understood any show of affection ; the com-
mon hand-shake itself was employed by her
only on very rare occasions.

Mechanically, Alison turned towards home
on leaving Jenny's. She recognised at once

119

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

that she was obeying a habit, and that she
would be home sooner than she had intended
if she went in the direction her steps had
chosen. Nevertheless, she let herself go.
She had come back to the native ground
from which she had wrenched herself; one
fibre had taken root again at once, and the
others were stretching instinctively towards
their old grooves. Yet when she arrived at
the street in which she lived, her first impulse
was to turn and run. The light from her
father's shop streamed across the dreary way;
the shop was always open late, as penny
packets of paper and envelopes were required
by the people in the neighbourhood till after
ten o'clock. She saw the school-bags hang-
ing at the door, and the tissue-paper chimney
ornaments in the window. It was this mean
life she had run away from, and to it she
was returning, a convicted fool and coward.
Leaning against a lamp-post, she began to
defend herself. The long, cold, miserable
railway journey was the cause of her defeat.
If London were an hour away, and she could
have started in the morning ! But this was
no preparation for what she was about to do.
She would not be irresolute now. Lifting

J20

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

her dress, she ran along the street and into
the shop.

Her father, who was arranging some new
goods on his shelves, knew at once, although
his back was to the door, that his daughter
had come back. He turned round slowly;
his face was white, and working ; his large
dark eyes lightened and clouded with emo-
tion.

' Well, Alison ?' he said, in a judicial tone,
through which a tremor shot.

* I've been very bad,' said Alison sheepishly.

Mr. Hepburn finished what he had been
about. Alison clasped and unclasped her
hands, and then pulled off her gloves as if
they had been burning her.

' You had better go to your mother,' said
Mr. Hepburn.

Alison passed through the shop into the
parlour, where her mother was sewing.

'Oh!' cried Mrs. Hepburn, rising. 'Where
have you been ?'

' Nowhere,' replied Alison. ' In a train.
I went to London, and came back.'

' London !' said Mrs. Hepburn, sitting
again.

Mrs. Hepburn was older-looking than her

121

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

years — a tall, scraggy woman, with a sallow
complexion. Alison had inherited her broad
brow and wide, deep-set eyes, but the facial
resemblance ended there ; the daughter's
irregular features were in marked contrast
with Mrs. Hepburn's straight nose and large,
firm mouth and chin.

The parlour, a small square room with a
moderately high ceiling, was lit by a single
gas jet from a chimney bracket. On the
walls were several illuminated texts, and two
engravings — one of the Royal Family, the
other a bird's-eye view of Edinburgh. The
furniture consisted of a Pembroke table,
chairs, and a sofa of mahogany upholstered
in horsehair, a small glazed bookcase, and a
cheap inlaid whatnot.

* Are you tired ? You must be tired,' said
Mrs. Hepburn. ' You'd better go to bed.'

Alison stood still, staring at her mother,
who had resumed her sewing.

'Where are Tom and Katey ?' she asked
at length.

' In bed. I sent them sooner than usual.'

' I am tired,' said Alison. ' Good-night.'

' Good-night,' said her mother.

Ahson went upstairs to her room, placed

122

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

her pound notes in a drawer, washed her
hands and face, undressed quickly, and lay
down. She had never in her life before felt
so completely at rest ; and the repose of her
mind was rather deepened than disturbed by
a vague wonder.

Before she fell asleep her mother came in
and lit the gas. She had brought a tray,
with tea and bread-and-butter.

' You must be hungry, Alison,' she said.
' Sit up and take this.'

Alison obeyed. While she ate, her mother,
in a nervous manner, lifted and laid things
on the mantelshelf and the toilet-table.
Then she made an orderly disposition of the
clothes which Alison had thrown oif in a
heap, and this actual employment restored
in a measure her self-control.

When Alison had finished, Mrs. Hepburn
took the tray, and said, with a return of her
nervous manner :

* Where did you get the money, Alison ?'

' It was my own money,' said Alison ; * I
saved it from the wages father gives me. It
took me three years to save it.'

* I see,' rejoined Mrs. Hepburn, trying to
hide her relief.

133

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

She tucked in the bed-clothes, seemed
about to speak again, but said only * Good-
night' Then she put out the gas, and
pulled open the door, which had been ajar.
Instead of leaving the room, however, she
stood suddenly stock still. Alison heard her
give up the tray, and come back to her bed-
side.

' Alison,' she said, whispering, ' were you
alone ?'

' Quite alone.'

'Well, good-night again.'

Mrs. Hepburn raised her voice, but not
loud enough to prevent her daughter from
hearing a deep long - drawn sigh at the
door.

The most prominent among the ideas that
came dimly before Alison's mind as she fell
asleep was a sense of power acquired over
her father and mother by her exploit. She
had expected to be at their mercy, but found
herself, in a way, mistress of the situation.

In the morning her mother advised her
not to rise until her brother and sister had
gone to school. She had breakfast in bed,
and then slept again for two hours. At
eleven she rose and went to the parlour,

124

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

where her father awaited her. Mrs. Hep-
burn attended to the shop that forenoon.

AHson blushed fiery red as she entered the
parlour, for on the table lay her manuscript.

' I have been glancing through this,' said
Mr. Hepburn, lifting and dropping ' A God-
less Universe.' ' I'm no great judge of
poetry, but some of it seems not badly
written. I think it's nonsense, of course,
too nonsensical to be blasphemous. Was it
this took you to London, Alison ?'

* Yes.'

A subtle smile softened Mr. Hepburn's
face and flickered about the corners of his
dark eyes.

' You had plenty of money with you, your
mother tells me. Why did you come back ?'

Alison said nothing.

* I believe it was really at bottom some
affection for your father and mother that
brought you back. Was it, Alison ?'

* Yes, yes,' replied Alison, conscious of an
attempt to appear more deeply stirred than
she was.

* Well, what do you want to do ?' asked
her father, an anxious look coming into his
face.

125

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

* I want to write ; I feel that I have some-
thing to say.'

* How can you have anything to say ?
You're only a lassie yet.'

' Well, then, I have a need to say some-
thing.'

' Yes ; but how are you going to live ? If
you leave the shop, I shall have to hire
an assistant, and shall have nothing to give
you.'

' I'll stay in the shop,' said Alison, 'though
I hate it.'

* I hate it, too. I may tell you, Alison,
that it was just such restlessness as is now
appearing in you that stranded me here. I
know how difficult it is to learn from the
experience of others ; but it is as sure as you
are sitting there, that if you don't stick to
the shop your life will be one of misery.
That I can foresee.'

' What did you want to be, father ?' asked
Alison, forgetting herself in the new light
thrown on her father's character.

' I shall tell you of my foolish days. My
father wished me to be a lawyer, and I
studied law for several years. When he
died, I persuaded my mother to enter me for

126

Alison hepburn's exploit

the Church ; then I shifted to medicine ;
then I wished to be a medical missionary ;
but, instead of studying, I wasted my time
at revival meetings. I spent about eight
years at the University altogether, eating up
my father's savings. My mother had carried
on my father's business — a very good
stationery and fancy business in Princes
Street — but her employes cheated her, and
we were bankrupt before I had acquired
even the rudiments of a profession. It was
then we came here, and it was then I learned
that religion is more than sentiment, that
without works faith is a mere prurience, that
love for God without duty to God is an illicit
love.' Here Mr. Hepburn, whose speech
had grown fervid, paused abruptly. * In the
circumstances,' he said, resuming, ' it is odd
that I should be explaining myself to you.
I am afraid you have a very hard heart,
Alison. But I shall never urge religion upon
you. Well, then, my lass, are you quite
prepared to go on as before ?'

* Yes,' said Alison, as heartily as she
could. ' Oh, father !' she exclaimed, sud-
denly understanding, although scarcely feel-
ing at all, how gentle he was with her.

127

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

She had never really had a talk with her
father before. His hard life had made him
outwardly stern, and his children shunned
him.

' I hope,' he said, laying his hand on his
daughter's head, as he left the room, ' this
will work for good to us all.'

It was said and done conventionally, and
spoilt entirely the effect of the interview.

When her father had gone, Alison picked
up her manuscript and turned to her favourite
pieces.

' I'm damned if they aren't good,' she said
hotly.

She put some dozen pages in her pocket
and thrust the rest in the iire. She then
went to the bookcase to select a book, but
her mother entered from the shop.

* Now, Alison,' Mrs. Hepburn said, * I
hope you are going to do what your father
wants. He is very stern-like. You've not
been thwarting him ?'

'Oh no!'

' You'll be wise not to. You'll find it im-
possible to live at loggerheads with your
father, his sense of duty is so strong. If
you please him, you may be certain you are

128

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

doing what's right, Alison. Go into the shop
and see if he wants you. I must look after
the dinner.'

' Oh !' said Mr. Hepburn when his daughter
appeared. * I forgot to say to you to try and
be more agreeable with your mother— more
of a help to her. Your mother has a very
strong sense of duty, and you may think her
exacting sometimes, but she will never ask
you to do what you can't or oughtn't to do.'

*A strong sense of whose duty?' asked
AHson. ' And what is duty ?'

'These are childish questions, Alison,'
said her father.

But Alison grinned, thinking what simple,
grotesque people her father and mother were.
What had duty to do with shop-keeping, and
cooking and the making of beds ? All those
things, and all other things, became so
utterly insignificant when she put the ques-
tion : Could it ever have been anybody's
duty to bring into the world such an ugly,
ill-conditioned creature as Alison Hepburn ?
She picked up a toy hand-mirror and looked
at herself in it, and then at her father.
Mr. Hepburn, half divining something dread-
ful in her mind, left the shop quickly.

129 9

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

Shortly after, Tom and Kate came home
from school for dinner. They had clearly
been cautioned about their first meeting
with Alison, for they looked very conscious
when they saw her. Tom, a lanky, ill-thriven
boy of twelve, turned round as he was about
to pass into the parlour, and stuck his tongue
in his cheek. Kate, a lanky, ill-thriven girl
of ten, blushed and looked sideways at her
sister.

Alison kept the shop while the rest were
at dinner. She sold some copy-books, some
pencils, some note-paper, and thought how
wretched it was to be depending for a liveli-
hood on such petty wants. How ineffably
weak and foolish she had been to come
back ! She said nothing to Tom and Kate
when they passed through the shop again
on their return to school ; and they, quarrel-
ling hotly about a piece of slate-pencil, gave
their sister neither word nor look.

After dinner she read listlessly in several
books. In the evening she visited Jenny
Macintosh, and walked along Princes Street
eating her heart out. She was so utterly
unequipped for the battle of life that there
could never be any need for her to choose

130

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

between shame and starvation. For a
moment she envied the furred and scented
women she passed.

' By God ! she's uglier awake than asleep.'

* So much the better for her.'

If somebody would only put an iron mask
on her and shut her up in a cage ! If

* Oh, Miss Hepburn ! How do you do ?'
It was James Williamson, the son of a

wholesale stationer, with whom her father
dealt. The Williamsons were members of
the same church as the Hepburns. James,
a loutish, red-haired lad of twenty, travelled
for his father ; an adept at business, he was
regarded by his friends and by himself as
a social failure. Alison flushed when he
stopped her; he and his attentions had not
once crossed her memory during her journey.
She never had thought of him at all. He
had been to her a mere detail common to
the nuisances of business and church-going,
an odd creature who generally succeeded in
shaking hands with her on Sunday in a
bashful, surprised way, turning up in un-
expected corners with his ' Oh, Miss Hep-
burn ! How do you do ?' It occurred to
her for the first time that this man was

131

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

wooing her, that here was a lover ! She
remembered in the instant of shaking hands
how his business visits were generally paid
in the evening when her father was at tea,
and she alone behind the counter ; and how
he never would hear of her summoning her
father, but stood looking at her and trying
to talk until Mr. Hepburn returned to the
shop.

She gave him her hand and burst out
laughing ; it was such an odd sensation.
Here was a man who desired her, wanted
her, thought he needed her. She laughed
again.

' Oh,' said young Williamson, much dis-
concerted, ' I see you're quite well ! I
thought you weren't. Good-bye.'

* But why did you think I was ill ?' asked
Alison, becoming serious.

' You looked so white.'

Alison said nothing. She was wondering
what attraction she could have for this
stupid red-headed fellow.

' Well, good-bye,' he said.

' Won't you walk back with me ?' she
asked.

James rubbed his hands, and stared.

132

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

Then, with a gurgling laugh, he placed him-
self at her side, and assumed the position of
escort in a very self-conscious manner.

They walked on in silence for several
minutes.

' I say,' said James, after clearing his
throat repeatedly, ' what a good reciter you
are!'

' Do you think so ?'

' Yes, you do it splendid. But you're
awfully clever.'

' How do you know I'm clever.'

' Everybody says you are.'

' Everybody !'

* In the church, you know.'

' What else do they say about me ?'

James looked askance at her.

' Then, they do say other things about
me. Tell me.'

' Well — mind you, it's only what they say,'

' Of course.'

' Well, you're conceited and stuck-up.'

' And what do you think ?'

'Me!'

' Yes.'

' Oh, I don't mind if you are.'

' Do you think me conceited and stuck-up ^'

U3

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

* I can't express myself. You know I'm
not clever. It's like this : I would like you
to be conceited and stuck-up, but not — with
me.'

James, alarmed at what he had said,
moved a little away, and fell half a step
behind ; but Alison turned towards him,
laughing, and he pulled himself together
immediately.

* Do you read much ?' asked Alison.

' I haven't time, and I don't care for it. I
suppose you're an awful reader.'

' I haven't time, either, but I read as much
as I can.'

' Shakespeare and Scott and Carlyle, and
all those old buffers, I suppose ?'

' I don't care much for Scott. He's no
psychologist.'

' Ah !' exclaimed James admiringly. ' Who's
your favourite poet ?'

* Byron, I think.'

* Ah ! Byron ! Ay. I say, do you know
I'm going into partnership in a month ?'

' With your father ?'

' Yes. I'll have two hundred and fifty per
ann.'

He watched her closely out of the tail of

134

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

his eye to note the effect of this announce-
ment ; but it was not visible, which was dis-
appointing. If he had no learning, he was
about to have an income ; and that was
something to set off against the reading of
Byron.

' I suppose a man can live on two hundred
and fifty a year ?' said Alison.

' Rather ! Why, a man can marry on two
hundred and fifty a year !'

* Into misery,' said Ahson, looking him
square in the face.

* Misery !' he exclaimed, standing still
abruptly, while she half halted and moved
on more slowly. ' But do you know what
you're saying ?' he cried, getting into line
again. ' Plenty of people marry on a hundred.'

* I don't call that marriage.'

' Oh, you don't call it marriage ?' he said,
not knowing whether to be perplexed or
amused. ' What would you call marriage,
now ?'

' I don't know. Are you coming in ?'

They had arrived at the shop.

' May I ?' he said eagerly. * Do you think
I should ?'

' Father will be glad to see you.'

^o5

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

* I've no business, you know.'

* Never mind.'

Mr. Hepburn, surprised but not ill pleased,
shook hands cordially, and asked the young
man to go into the parlour. There the table
was set for supper, and Mrs. Hepburn was
busy at the fire.

' This is a surprise ! she said.

* Oh !' said James. ' I was coming down,
at any rate, and met Miss Hepburn on the
way.'

* Well, you'll stay and have a bite of supper
now you're here ?'

* Oh, thank you 1'

' We're very homely people, you know,'
continued Mrs. Hepburn. ' But you won't
object to take pot-luck. We have no servant,
so we let the kitchen fire out after tea, and
if there's any supper to cook, do it here.'

* And a very good plan, too,' said James,
beside himself with delight at the cordiality
of his reception.

Alison began to assist her mother, but
Mrs. Hepburn declined her help.

' Show Mr. Williamson the album,' she
said.

Seated together on the sofa, they looked

136

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

over the album, holding it between them.
Young Mr. Williamson's eager interest in
every photograph of which Alison chose to
speak was very marked. Mrs. Hepburn
noticed it, and cast an intelligent glance at
the couple,

* Oh, this is yourself. Miss Hepburn !' cried
James, seizing the album, and holding it close
to his face. ' It's like you,' he continued,
' and yet it's not hke you. It doesn't do you
justice. It doesn't bring out your expression,
or your — eh — wonderful eyes.'

' Don't be stupid !' said Alison.

When the album was finished, James turned
to the bookcase. A shelf of red and blue
books, with heavily-gilt backs which no one
could mistake, attracted his attention. He
took down one and opened it.

' Ah !' he exclaimed, with lifted eyebrows.
* Your prizes. Miss Plepburn !' He went over
several of them quickly. * Arithmetic, his-
tory, geography, English literature, elocution,
French, general excellence — first prizes in
everything,' he said. * It's too terrible. I
never got a prize in my life.'

' Oh, that doesn't mean anything, or, if it
does, it means the opposite of what you think,

137

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

Scott never got a prize, nor Shakespeare, I
should think.'

' No,' said James, perspiring with pleasure,
his resemblance to Scott and Shakespeare
never having struck him before.

* It was the merest accident that I got all
these prizes. There was nobody cleverer
than me in the school, or I shouldn't have
had them.'

Apart from its modesty, which he adored,
this was, in James's estimation, a most original
way of looking at things.

' Nobody cleverer ! If there had been any-
body cleverer ! Well, that's a good one !' he
said.

' I mean,' explained Alison, ' that if there
had been anybody at all clever in the
school, I shouldn't have had them ; Tm not
clever. Scott and Shakespeare weren't clever.
Women, as a rule, are cleverer than men.
Mrs. Browning and George Eliot, for example,
were far cleverer than Scott and Shakespeare.
I mean, that these two women were given to
sitting down doggedly and acquiring things,
whereas Scott and Shakespeare let things
come as they would. Mrs. Browning and
George Eliot hunted out their mental food —

138

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

killed it, skinned it, cooked it, ate it — and it
was always tough to them ; while Scott and
Shakespeare — why, they just drank it in
without knowing it.'

* Oh, Mr. Williamson,' said Mrs. Hepburn,
' she talks such nonsense ! never mind her.'

* Oh, it's not nonsense, Mrs. Hepburn,'
James retorted. ' I never heard such things.
Why, it's quite wonderful ! You ought to
have a class in the Sunday-school, Miss
Hepburn. And Byron — was Byron clever ?'

' No ; he was a dunce all his life.'

James chuckled and spluttered at this.
Then he said, radiant at the idea of coming
out with something critical :

' By-the-by, Miss Hepburn, I thought you
didn't like Scott ? Now, you know, you
placed him along with Shakespeare just now.'

' Oh yes ! But I know how great he was,
although I don't quite like him in the mean-
time. After awhile I'll like him again. It's
children and old people who read Scott most,
they say.'

Mr. Hepburn came in from the shop, and
they sat down to the table. To the fried
potatoes, which was the usual supper twice
or thrice a week, Mrs. Hepburn had added

139

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

a hash of the cold meat originally intended
for next day's dinner ; and there was coffee,
bread-and-butter, oat-cake, and raspberry jam.

James found everything very good indeed,
and chatted with Mr. Hepburn about business
and church matters.

Immediately after supper Mr. Hepburn
rose.

' I have some accounts to finish,' he said.
' I wish you would come and help me, Annie '
— his wife's name.

* Let me clear the table first.'

' No ; I'll do that,' said Alison.

' Well, I must go now,' said James.

' Must you ?' queried Mr. Hepburn, in a
disappointed tone.

' There's no hurry, Mr. Williamson,' said
Mrs. Hepburn reproachfully.

' They'll be wondering what's come over
me at home. I had no intention of being so
late.'

* In that case, we won't press you, Mr.
Williamson,' said Mr. Hepburn.

James reached for his hat.

' Mr. Williamson's going to help me to
clear away the dishes,' said Alison, with a
heightened colour and a catch in her voice.

140

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

' Oh, of course, with pleasure,' said James,
upsetting a coffee-cup.

'Alison!' exclaimed Mrs. Hepburn. 'For
shame ! Do you know what you're saying ?'

* But I want to,' said James.

* You two old fogeys go away,' said Alison,
with unusual briskness, and taking a liberty
with her father and mother, the like of which
she had never used before. ' Mr. Williamson
and I'll manage all right.'

* Alison,' said Mrs. Hepburn, ' you're for-
getting yourself entirely.'

But her husband pulled her skirt, and
they left the parlour together.

Two cups were washed and dried in
silence — Alison very grave, James grinning
from ear to ear.

* Well, but,' stammered James at last,
resuming the conversation that had been
interrupted on entering the house, while he
polished the third cup vigorously, * if you
can't marry on two hundred and fifty per
ann., the world would begin to stop.'

' But what could a husband and wife do
on two hundred and fifty per ann., as you
call it?'

Why, they could have a nice little house

141

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

and a piano and a good general servant, and
they could ask their friends to little parties ;
and when they came home from church-
meetings and soirees and things, there's their
cosy parlour all to themselves, a fine fire, and
a bit of supper laid. And they could practise
the hymns. Oh, you've no idea how com-
fortable it would be !'

• I see.'

' Well ?'

* But you couldn't go to a good seat in the
theatre whenever you wanted to, or visit
London and Paris now and again.'

' No,' said James, in dull amazement. ' No.'
' Do you go to the theatre often ?'
' Me ! I never was in a theatre in my life.
Were you ?'

' I only went once for half an hour — on the
sly, of course. I saw the first act of" Othello "
— it made me quite giddy. Then the
orchestra began after the curtain fell, and I
felt like to cry out with anger. I wanted
the play to go on, on, on. And I came away.
But I mean to go now openly.'

' Oh !' said James, at a loss. * Of course,'
he went on stammering, ' you being such a
good elocutionist !'

142

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

'Yes,' said Alison, draining a saucer into
the slop-basin in which she was washing the
dishes. ' Wouldn't you like to go to the
theatre ?'

* Well — isn't it wrong ? Of course, you're
not a member of the church, and '

' No ; but I can easily join it, can't I V

* Oh 1' said James, twisting his face in a
perplexed grin.

* Do you know what I did the other
night r

' No.'

* I went to London.'

* To London ?'

* Yes ; but I hear father and mother
coming. Don't say anything about this
before them.'

* No, no, I won't,' said James, gratified by
this secret understanding. ' But you must
tell me all about it.''

* So I will some day.'

* Oh, but soon !'

' Well, to-morrow night ? Half-past eight
on the North Bridge.'

Alison remained in the parlour after her
father and mother had gone to bed. Having
read a little in an anthology of verse, she

143

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

took from her pocket the few pages of * A
Godless Universe ' which she had preserved.
She went over them carefully, and without
excitement.

' What paltry trash !' she said, blushing
deeply.

The fire was almost out, but she gathered
the embers together, and blew them into a
blaze. Then she lit her manuscript, and,
with a sick smile, watched it burn.

' That's done,' she said, poking the charred
pieces of paper into the glowing ash. ' We
can practise the hymns !' she muttered, as
she went upstairs to bed.

Next morning she professed to be too ill
to rise. She refused to eat anything, and
lay in bed all day. When she came into the
parlour at tea-time, her father and mother
looked very gloomy ; but nothing was said
in the presence of Tom and Kate. At half-
past seven she visited Jenny Macintosh, who
was in a reminiscent mood, and talked, now
to herself, now to Alison.

* Naething but taties and rye-bread, lassie,
and sometimes nae saut at a', it was that
dear. But there was nae puir folk then :
a'body helped their neebour ; an' beggars

144

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

was better aff than mony hard-wrocht folk
are the noo. It was the Jubilee Year that I
cam to Embro' — George the Third's Jubilee.
Lod, lassie, there was them, an' I kent them,
that lived for weeks on what they got that
day. They had nae system ava, I'm
thinkin' ; their richt haun' kent naething
aboot their left ; they gied in thae days wi'
baith nieves. And then I merrit. You're
gettin' a lump o' a lassie, noo, Elison. Hae
ye ever a jo ? But you'll dae brawly for twa
year yet. I was auchteen when I merrit.
Aye ! then I kent I was in the warl', wi' a
growin' fem'ly, an' wark at ither hooses
forbye my ain ! But he was a guid man —
a guid man was Macintosh. Had it no been
for the carritches, though, I wad niver hae
warstled through. There's an awfu' poo'r o'
help in the Shorter Catechism. We'll hae
it noo.'

Alison took the Catechism.

' " What offices doth Christ execute as our
Redeemer ?" ' she asked, remembering where
they had left off the night before.

* "Christ as our Redeemer,'" replied Jenny
in a high-pitched voice, swaying her body to
the curious, careful, childish rhythm in which

145 10

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

she delivered the answer, * " executeth the
offices of a Prophet, of a Priest, and of a
King, both in His estate of humihation and
exaltation.' "

Jenny said five questions, finishing up
triumphantly with ' Christ's exaltation ' — a
great favourite.

' " Christ's exaltation consisteth in His
rising again from the dead on the third day, in
ascending up into heaven, in sitting at the
right hand of Goad the Father, and — in
coming to judge the world — at — the — last —
day." The last day — the last day,' she re-
peated several times. ' Noo, read the ninth
o' the Romans. Begin — aye, begin at the
fourteenth verse.'

Alison turned up the place in Jenny's
Bible, and read :

' " What shall we say, then ? Is there un-
righteousness with God? God forbid. For
He saith to Moses, I will have mercy on
whom I will have mercy, and I will have
compassion on whom I will have compassion.
So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of
him that runneth, but of God that hath
mercy. For the Scripture saith unto Pharaoh,
Even for this same purpose have I raised

146

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

thee up, that I might show My power in thee,
and that My name might be declared through-
out all the earth. Therefore hath He mercy
on whom He will have mercy, and whom He
will He hardeneth." '

' Aye,' interjected Jenny. ' Bide a wee.
" Therefore hath He mercy on whom He will
have mercy, and whom He will He har-
deneth." Aye ! Umphumph ! Marvellous !
That's Goad! Weel?'

" * Thou wilt say then unto Me," ' continued
Alison, * " Why doth He yet find fault ? For
who hath resisted His will ? Nay, but, O
man, who art thou that repliest against God?
Shall the thing formed say to him that
formed it. Why hast thou made me thus ?
Hath not the potter power over the clay, of
the same lump to make one vessel unto
honour, and another unto dishonour ?" '

Alison paused. She heard a husky, re-
laxed throat say, ' By God, she's uglier awake
than asleep!' and an old slippery voice re-
ply, * So much the better for her.'

*Aye!' said Jenny. * Weel, yes, ye may
juist stop there. That's the teuchest ane
that was ever written in the Bible, or oot o't,
lassie. And there cam' a Salvationist the

147

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

ither day speirin' if I was saved ! A piece
o' damned impidence ! What div I ken ?
I tell't her it was nane o' her business : an'
says she, speakin' far ben in her coal-scuttle
bannet, " But it's everybody's business,
Missis Macintosh." "Weel," says I, "what's
iverybody's business is naebody's business,"
an' she smilt a kin' o' a weak smile. " Gae
wa'," says I; "we've naething tae dae wi'
that ; it's only Goad kens that." " But,'
says she, " you surely hope you won't go to
hell?" "Why sud I hope onything o' the
sort, if it's Goad's wull ?" says I. " Oh,
Missis Macintosh," quo' she, " you must
surely be lookin' for some reward after all
these toilsome years ?" " An' what for sud
I?" says I. "There's them that's been as
sair trauch'lt as me, starvin' in the puirshoose,
or begging their bread frae door tae door
the noo, an' me sittin' here as crouse as ye
like wi' a pension an' naething tae dae but
twiddle my thoombs. It's gey like I hae
gotten my reward in this warl' a'ready ; an'
it's maybe juist because Goad kens what I'll
hae tae thole in the neist. I ken my ain
ken," says I, and sent her awa wi' a flea in
her lug. Set them up, wi' their tambourines!

148

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

I'se warrant there's no ane o' them could
say as muckle as " Man's chief en'." '

* Well, good-night, Jenny.'

* Gude-nicht, Elison. You'll be up by the
morn — if we're spar't ?'

'Ay, Jenny.'

Although she had ten minutes to come
and go on, Alison hurried to the North
Bridge. James was there before her — had
been for fully a quarter of an hour.

* Oh ! Miss Hepburn ! How do you
do?'

* How tiresome you are,' said Alison.
' Can't you say, " Good-evening, Miss Hep-
burn," or—" Alison ?" '

' Can I — may I — call you — Alison ?'

* Don't get excited.'

James chuckled, enraptured with this con-
tinuance of the familiar manner Alison had
adopted the night before.

' Where shall we go ?' he said.

' Let us take a walk along Princes Street.'

Along Princes Street they went.

' You were never in a theatre,' said Alison.
* But were you ever with one of these ?'

' What ? One of what ?' exclaimed James,
looking about him distractedly.

149

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

Alison nodded her head in the direction of
some furs and feathers that passed.

* God forbid !' said James, aghast. ' Why !
Miss Hepburn !'

* But aren't you courting me ?' said Ali-
son.

* I am,' said James. * I am.'

* And you want to marry me ?'

* Yes,' gasped James.

* Well, then, haven't I a right to know if
you've led a pure life ?'

' Oh ! I wasn't looking at it in that light.
Of course you have Miss — Alison. I've led
a very pure life, I assure you.'

* What an awful cad you are !' cried Ali-
son, stopping short, and looking him up and
down scornfully.

* Well — I never ! You're a most tantalizing,
fascignating thing.'

* It's " fascinating,' " said Alison fiercely.
' Fas-cin-at-ing ! And don't call me a
" thing." '

' Well,' rejoined James sheepishly, * I'll

remember. Fas-cig Everyone I know,

Alison, says " fascignating " — as far as I can
remember, that is.'

She replied with a look.

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

' Fas-cin-at-ing. I'll remember,' he said.

They walked side by side, but with fully
two feet between for a minute.

' It's — it's like crossing the Rubicon,' said
James, sidling up awkwardly. ' I'm very
sorry for having offended you. I hope '

'Oh, don't be stupid,' said Alison, taking
his arm.

' Ha !' exclaimed James, and chuckled.
* And why did you go to London, then ?' he
asked.

* Oh, just to see it,' she answered.
'Just to see it ?'

* Yes : I took a run up to have a look at
the place. I suppose you've often been in
London ?'

* Yes ; I've been once or twice on business.'
' I want to live in London.'

* But you'll marry me all the same, Alison ?'

* You've never asked me yet.'

* Never ? No ! Well, will you ?'
' Yes.'

' And I wonder if it could be soon ?'

* Of course it could.'

' Could we get married next month, just as
soon as I'm made a partner ?'

* Yes, James.'

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

James laughed a little uncomfortably.

'Ah!' he said, after a minute's silence,
* you must come right away and see my
father and mother.'

* I can't,' said Alison ; ' I'm not dressed.
But you must come and see my father and
mother.'

James kissed her quickly on the mouth as
they turned back towards Leith Walk.

* Don't ! you mustn't ! You must never
do that !'

It was almost a scream ; her face glowed
dusky-red in the dim lamplight, and her eyes
glared on him.

' I beg your pardon,' he said. ' I shouldn't
have done it in the street ; but nobody
noticed.'

' But you must never do it anywhere — till
we're married.'

* Not kiss you !'

* No.'

* Do you love me, Alison ?' he asked, with
a gasp.

* Oh, how can you ask that ? Have I not
promised to marry you ?'

* Yes, yes. Well, then, and what did you
think of London ?'

152

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

^Oh, I never saw it — ^just some busses and
a fog.'

* How long were you there ?'

* About seven minutes. For a minute and
a half I looked at the busses and the fog, and
for the other five and a half minutes I walked
about the Great Northern Station.'

' Well, I never ! What on earth did you
do it for?'

* I was wearied and sick of everything,
and there was no help anywhere, and

nobody to Oh, and I couldn't endure

it any longer.'

' Nobody to — nobody to love you ?'
' How could I tell ? You never said any-
thing but " Oh, Miss Hepburn, how do you
do?" And I — I didn't know what I was
doing, I was so desperate.'

' Oh, AHson ! You loving me all the time
like that, and me not knowing it !'

* Hush ! people are looking at us.'

V ♦ ^t ^t T^

Mr. and Mrs. Hepburn, genuinely devout
and dutiful people, felt that their daughter's
marriage with young Williamson would open
a miraculous door of deliverance. They
saw in it God's hand preparing a means for

153

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

Alison's regeneration, and also preparing a
path whereby they themselves, in their
declining years, might be led by quiet waters.

'James Williamson,' said Mr. Hepburn,
* is really a religiously-inclined young man.
There is nothing of the tinkling cymbal
about him. He is respected by everybody
in the church, and, young as he is, I
shouldn't be at all surprised to find him
appointed an elder in a year or two.'

' What I admire about him,' said Mrs.
Hepburn, * is his carrying his religion into
his business. He is so upright in all his
dealings, and no conceit ; that's what I
like about him. Of course Alison's as good
as he ; but nobody could have blamed him if
he had gone where there was money.'

' No,' rejoined Mr. Hepburn ; * the great
matter is that she will be the wife of a
religious man, and must soon be brought
into the fold. She has been led, poor
lassie ! by strange ways.'

' Yes,' said Mrs. Hepburn. ' I should
think marriage '11 knock the nonsense out of
her, and open her eyes to her duty. It is
almost a pity that her life will not be a little
harder — to begin with, at least. With two

154

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

hundred and fifty a year she will hardly ever
need to soil her fingers !'

Mrs. Hepburn changed a sigh into a cough
as she looked at her own horny hands.

But Mr. and Mrs. Williamson were not
particularly pleased with their son's choice.

' Well, what do you think of it all ?' said
Mr. Williamson.

' I think,' said Mrs. Williamson, * that it's
rather a pity. But there's this to be said for
James : he has not been led off his feet by
a pretty face. There must be something
attractive in her character.'

' I dare say. She is pleasant enough, too.
There's one thing : she's been brought up
frugally; she'll take care of his money for
him.'

* And that's something,' assented Mrs.
Williamson heartily. * I was always afraid
lest he should make up with one of those
Dickson girls. And they don't dress well,
either ; they were perfect frights last Sunday.
Oh, James might have done worse, I believe.
And let us hope that it's His guidance.'

' She's not a member, I understand ?'

* No, not yet ; but of course she'll join the
church at once.'

155

ALISON HEPBURN'S EXPLOIT

* I suppose so. Hepburn's a decent fellow.
He's in pretty shallow water, though. His
wife's rather a hard-mouthed woman, isn't
she ? How many other children have they ?'

* Only two. I know what you're think-
ing : you're afraid James may be marrying a
family. You needn't ; I'll take care of that.'

156

THE MEMBER FOR GOTHAM.

GOOD-MORNING,' said the Member
for Gotham the moment the inter-
viewer entered his sanctum. * Whatever
your business may be, I hope you will state
it as briefly as possible. I am very busy
preparing a programme for my Premiership
in 1900.'

An epigrammatic reply in commendation
of his own brevity was on the interviewer's
lips, but he improved on it, brilliant as it
was, by putting his first question :

* Will you allow me to interview you ?'

* There is as yet no law against inter-
viewing,' said the Member for Gotham
thoughtfully, as he made a memorandum.

' You think there ought to be ?' the inter-
viewer suggested.

* I don't think about it,' said the Member
for Gotham.

157

THE MEiMBER FOR GOTHAM

* Well then, since the subject is started,
will you give me your opinion of inter-
viewing ?'

' Is it worth a thought ? It is one of
the recognised forms of advertisement ; the
interviewer is paid for his work ; and since
there is no law against it, as long as two
parties are served it will continue. Where
is the use of having an opinion about it ?
That won't change it, or do away with it.'

' Where is the use of having an opinion
about anything, then ?'

* Quite so !' said the Member for Gotham,
lighting a cigarette.

* Then, have you no opinions ?'

* Humph ! It's too difficult ! Ask me
another.'

* What do you think of '

* Don't ask me what I think. Ask me
something I know.'

' But that'll never do. That's not how an
interview is conducted. If people only said
what they knew, interviewing would be
asphyxiated. You must express opinions
whether you have them or not ; you must
make guesses, hint scandals ; you must

colour everything you say with '

158

THE MEMBER FOR GOTHAM

* I understand — with falsehood.'

* No ; with your individuality.'

* The distinction escapes me.'

* You are not very complimentary to your-
self. But I must get on. You wish me to
ask you something you know. Now, what
do you know ?'

' I know,' said the Member for Gotham,
'what I mean to do when I'm Premier.'

* Then, you know that you will be
Premier ?'

' It is the only thing that can be predicted
with certainty.'

' Well, then, when you are Premier, what
will you do with the House of Commons ?
How will you manage it ?'

* You do not seem to me quite to under-
stand your business. You should put ques-
tions in detail. Give me a cue.'

* I see. How would you do away with the
present waste of time in Parliament?'

* I would begin by raising the standard of
membership.'

' How would you do that ?'
' I would make Parliament a branch of
the Civil Service.'
' Again — how ?'

159

THE MEMBER FOR GOTHAM

* First of all, no man should be eligible
for election under thirty years of age. Once
elected, he would be allowed to remain in
Parliament as long as he could find a con-
stituency, and meet certain requirements.'

* Certain requirements ?'

' Yes. Let me see, now. I would estab-
Hsh seminaries of politics and statesmanship
in which intending M.P.'s, having graduated
at a University, would study for three years.
The ordinary Master of Arts degree would
do, but there would be only one degree in
Politics and Government. When a man is
going to help to govern the British Empire,
he should take his degree in Statesmanship
with first-class honours.'

' Do you think, then, that competitive
examination selects the best men ?'

* I do not ; but my examination would
not be competitive. The actual competition
would take place, as now, on the platform.'

* I understand. But how would this plan
save time in ParHament ? It is your best
educated men, as education goes, who talk
the most there.'

' And necessarily. The rank and file re-
quire to have the meaning of the various

1 60

THE MEMBER FOR GOTHAM

measures driven into them by debate. But
don't you see that if every man were gifted
with the power of understanding a Bill in-
dependently of the exposition of others, there
would be no need for discussion ?'

' But is it not the case that many of the
best educated men in the House of Commons
study very few of the Bills ?'

'That is so; but I have a plan to meet
that difficulty.'

' What is that ?'

* I would simply abolish debate. In the
House of Commons during my Premiership,
not a sound shall be heard from year's end
to year's end, except the tread of states-
men.'

' And a cough occasionally.'

* Quite so.'

* But how — how?'

' The Crystal Palace shall be the House of
Commons in my time. There the Speaker
and I shall preside, and there the members
of Parliament shall write examination-papers
on each Bill. There is space enough at
Sydenham for the six hundred odd members
to sit at such distances from each other that
neither a whispered nor a written word could

i6i II

THE MEMBER FOR GOTHAM

pass unobserved. The questions shall be
exhaustive, and the Opposition shall examine
the papers of the party in power, and the
party in power the papers of the Opposition.'

* And what would constitute a failure ?'

* Anything short of seventy per cent.'
' And the penalty ?'

' The plucked member would be disabled
from voting for the measure he had failed to
comprehend. If any man failed three times,
he would be sent down to his constituency.'

* Would he go ?'

* He would more likely apply for the
Chiltern Hundreds. But if a thrice-plucked
man had the hardihood to face his con-
stituents, and could show such a plausible
case that they were willing to give him
another chance, he would be allowed to keep
his seat ; but on the first failure after that, a
new writ would be issued for the borough he
represented.'

* What an overwhelming amount of work
would be inflicted on members by this
scheme !'

* Let me see,' said the Member for Gotham,
rubbing his nose. ' I have computed that my
system would reduce a country squire from

162

THE MEMBER FOR GOTHAM

sixteen stone to a living skeleton in six
months; and the strongest men, physically
and intellectually, would be killed off or in-
capacitated, on an average, in three years.
A Gladstone might last you some seven or
eight.'

* Would that not be a wanton sacrifice ?'

* I don't see it. Every year two or three
hundred men are sacrificed in providing coal;
hundreds are offered up to Mammon on rail-
ways and the high seas, and three millions,
we are told, are starving in order that I may
smoke cigarettes, and you waste your time
hearing me talk. Don't make any mistake.
You're a luxur}', Mr. Interviewer. If a House-
of-Commons-full of men were to work them-
selves to death every three years in an en-
deavour at last to govern the British Empire
rationally, it seems to me that it would simply
be the performance of a duty. It would,
besides, provide naturally for triennial Parlia-
ments. If Tom, Dick, and Harry, to the
number of six hundred, plunged into the
mouth of Hell at a wrong order in 1854, and
are ready, as we know they are, in the name
of duty to do the same to-day to the number
of six hundred hundred, we can surely find a

163

THE MEMBER FOR GOTHAM

House of Commons willing to die in harness
every three years !'

' But is it necessary ?'

* Something's necessary, and I'm going to
try it when I'm Premier/

Having said that with great emphasis, the
Member for Gotham picked up his pro-
gramme to signify that the interview was
over, and the interviewer took his leave.

164

TALKING AGAINST TIME.

THE world shall now know under what
extraordinary circumstances Onesi-
mus Iremonger withdrew from the contest
in the by-election at Belminster, Kent.

Until the moment of his retiral, he was on
the best of terms with his committee. Even
old Jasper Snoxell, the chairman, and the
wealthiest and most ill-natured man in Bel-
minster, had whispered to the secretary,
loud enough for Iremonger to hear, that he
was, on the whole, not altogether dissatis-
fied with his attitude — towards one or two
questions, at any rate. On the eve of the
nomination-day, a meeting of the committee,
at which Iremonger was present, lasted till
nearly midnight. It was on the point of
breaking up, when the following letter was
handed to the candidate :

165

TALKING AGAINST TIME

* Dear Iremonger,

' Snoxell will get a letter at the same
time as you get this, or shortly after. He
will want to rush out immediately. Don't
let him. Keep him in the committee-room
till after twelve, by fair means or foul. Get
him into an argument. That's the best plan.
He would sacrifice his chance of salvation
any day to have the last word. My happi-
ness, my life, and the happiness and life of
another, depend on your keeping Snoxell
prisoner till twelve o'clock has rung.
' Yours ever,

' Arthur Armstead.'

' Armstead !' said Iremonger to himself.
' He has come back, then, after all !'

Armstead had bullied him at school, beaten
him at college, been in and out of Parliament
twice before Iremonger had delivered his first
electioneering speech, and had left Britain in
high dudgeon over something or other almost
a year before the date of the Belminster by-
election. They had always been warm friends
in the remarkable unsentimental manner of
the modern British Damon and Pythias. Ire-
monger would have done anything for Arm-

i66

TALKING AGAINST TIME

stead, and Armstead would have done a good
many things for Iremonger.

' By the way/ said Iremonger to his com-
mittee, as the old habit of doing whatever
Armstead asked him revived at once, ' there
are one or two points which I should like to
discuss very briefly before we go.'

The committee looked bored, and Snoxell,
who prided himself on his management of
affairs, and was certain that he had omitted
no detail, prepared to be offended. Before
Iremonger could proceed, however, a letter
marked ' Immediate ' was handed to Snoxell.
As soon as he had read it he turned pale,
and, forgetting his hat, made a dash for the
door.

Iremonger was subject to occasional fits
of vertigo. That day he had addressed three
meetings in the open air, had spoken for an
hour and a half in the town-hall at night,
and had been with his committee since ten.
He was now quite worn out. He staggered
and nearly fell ; a red-hot poker seemed to
pass through his head ; the room swam about
him ; his committee looked like creatures in
an aquarium. Then he felt as if he were
being swept down by a whirlpool, while he

167

TALKING AGAINST TIME

heard Armstead crying for help far out at
sea. He must get up and save him. Old
Armstead ! — who had beaten him in every-
thing. Ha ! Except — he had nearly forgotten
that — Armstead had never been able to com-
pete with him in the comic paper of their
college. Poor old Armstead !

Suddenly he saw the room as it was — the
door open, and Snoxell in the act of leaving.

' Snoxell !' roared Iremonger.

The committee stared with open mouth.
To address a chairman, and, above all, that
particular chairman, without the ' Mr. !' They
had never heard of such a thing.

' Come back, Snoxell ; I want to talk to
you,' said Iremonger at the pitch of his voice.
Something was whirring in his brain, but he
felt now in perfect possession of his faculties,
and was much charmed with himself.

Livid and breathing hard, Snoxell re-
entered the room.

' What's the exact time ?' he said to the
secretary, his lip curling up and showing his
set teeth.

* Ten minutes to twelve.'

* Does the west entrance to the station
keep open till the express leaves ?'

i68

TALKING AGAINST TIME

* Always.'

* And I can go from here to the station in
two minutes ?'

* Easily.'

* Now, Mister Iremonger. Sir to you !'
cried Snoxell, opening and shutting his teeth
with every word. He held his watch in one
hand, and his hat, which the secretary had
reached him, in the other.

* Keep your temper, old man,' said Ire-
monger, pale but radiant. * We are all
yeomen of Kent here, you know. Ten
minutes to twelve ? Yes, all 5^eomen of
Kent ; and there's not one of us that
couldn't talk straight on for ten minutes if we
were put to it, eh ? — Snoxell, Kinson, Bentlif,
Walloond, Morling, Edmett, Arvad, Axel-
rad — good old Kentish names — and Ire-
monger, by Jove ! There is no older family
in England than the Iremongers of Kent,
and no family more remarkable in its
descent. The blood of Roman, Celt, Saxon
and Norman circulates in my veins. " Ire,"
you know, from " ira," anger ; and " monger,"
pure Saxon. Therefore, a Saxon must have
married the offspring of a union between a
Roman and a Celt. That is mainly tradi-

169

TALKING AGAINST TIME

tion, but the Norman blood is in the family
tree. Give me a Kentish man — give me an
Iremonger — and give me Kent.'

* Why do you live in London, then ?'
asked Snoxell quickly.

Although always ready for a fray, he had
been quite at a loss to understand why
Iremonger should have turned on him.
Now he saw that it was something else
than a sudden heat against him, and he
determined to give Iremonger as much rope
as he could pay out in ten minutes,

' London !' rejoined Iremonger ; * why,
London is the only safe place in Britain !
And even there I never go further west
than Queen's Gate, and further east than
Piccadilly Circus — south to the House, and
north to the Zoo.'

'You think, then, that it's safe between
these points,' interjected Snoxell, paying out
rope.

* Pretty safe ! You see, London is so
immense that I should be bound to hear
of the invasion long before the army could
reach Piccadilly.'

* The invasion ?'

' Yes. You seem a little surprised ; and

170

TALKING AGAINST TIME

there are, indeed, many people to whom
the idea of the coming invasion is of Httle
moment. To me it is of the first import-
ance.'

* You think, then, that there will be an
invasion. By the French ?'

* By Europe.'

* Europe ?'

* Yes. Europe is angry at Britain with an
anger that has been growing for fifty years —
for a hundred and fifty years— ever since
Culloden. I should say ever since the
Dutch war, in Charles II. 's time ; for Hum-
bert's abortive attempt in Ireland doesn't
count.'

* Doesn't count ?'

' No. Indeed, we may go back to the
Spanish Armada, because no projected in-
vasion of consequence has come up to the
scratch since.'

' Ah ! And the impending invasion is
certain to come up to the scratch ?'

' Rather ! You see, every country in
Europe has been overrun by alien armies,
and drenched in native blood shed by swords
of foreigners again and again, while posi-
tively the last parallel instance in the history

171

TALKING AGAINST TIME

of England is the battle of Hastings. Now,
Europe is not going to stand that any longer.
Except for civil wars — I count the invasion
by the Dauphin in John's time civil war —
England has had peace within her own
borders for seven hundred years. It's
absurd, gentlemen ; Europe can't and won't
stand it. I assure you, at any moment a
million soldiers may march on London,
levied by a Continental coalition. I have
calculated, however, that it is more likely
that the invasion will leave London to the
last, in order that the whole wealth of the
country may be collected there. Europe's
exasperated, and means to do the thing
thoroughly when it comes over. London is
therefore the only place from which one is
reasonably certain of being able to escape,
and so I prefer to live there.'

* But the signs of the times point to war
among the European Powers themselves,
rather than to an invasion of Britain,' said
Snoxell.

'All in the plan — all in the plan!' replied
Iremonger. * They keep threatening each
other, advancing troops, and exhibiting ships
in order to have a pretext for increasing and

172

TALKING AGAINST TIME

perfecting their armies and navies. I tell
you it is impossible to conceive the rancour
of the Powers against Britain. When they
think that this cold, wet, disagreeable little
island, inhabited by stupid people, has
steadily increased in wealth, and managed
to lay hold of the best parts of the world
while they have been chawing each other up
like rats in a cage, they foam at the mouth
and gnash their teeth. Britain is doomed ;
Europe will kick it into the sea before twenty
years are over — that is to say, if there is
anything left to kick.'

'Anything left?'

* Yes. Have you paid no attention to the
development of the woman question? Mar-
riage, once a lottery, is now a certainty.
Hitherto, the husband was occasionally
mate, and more frequently master ; now
he is an anachronism which woman puts up
with, just as we have beef-eaters in the
Tower. Britain is doomed either way. If
it escapes the Scylla of invasion, it falls into
the Charybdis of the ' monstrous regiment of
women.' I could almost welcome the in-
vasion. It is the only thing that would put
back the tyranny of women for another half-

173

TALKING AGAINST TIME

century. I venture to prophesy that within
twenty years there will be a general exodus
of men from these islands.'
' And the women ?'

* Will pursue the men,'

* There seems to be no door of hope.'

* None. Britain is practically done for!'

* Well, then, Mr. Iremonger,' said Snoxell,
pocketing his watch and putting on his hat,
*the best thing you can do is to withdraw
from the election, die, and be cremated at
your earliest convenience.'

'Cremated!' cried Iremonger. 'There
again ! If everything else fails, in cremation
you have the surest if the slowest means of
extinguishing the world. For everybody
burnt, so much of earth is lost. In the
course of ages you will gradually deplete the
soil and destroy all organic matter. Don't
you see ? By cremation you make, as it
were, the fire of doomsday chronic. No, I
shall never be cremated. Earth to earth,
and dust to dust. We can all be benefactors
to the world at large, and at last, by paying
into the great bank of life — the soil — our
bill at threescore years and ten, or whenever
it is due. I have thought over all these

174

TALKING AGAINST TIME

matters. I have considered everything.'
Here Iremonger began to speak with great
rapidity and very loud, Snoxell having
stepped towards the door. * The world is
as transparent to me as a crystal globe.
Although no single one of all the contin-
gencies that threaten it — volcanic rupture,
comets, the attraction of the sun — should find
an opportunity, the world, in the ordinary
course of Nature, must come to an end. It
is so — to an end. But I have a stupendous
idea for the extension of the ordinary course
of Nature. Whether we bury or cremate, the
soil will ultimately lose its virtue. But if we
could call up virgin soil from the deep ! Yes,
I shall write to the Times to-morrow. We
must take a lesson from the coral insect,
and, by means of ocean burials, create new
continents. I shall work it out. I see it !
Let us talk it over.'

At this point the town clock began to
strike twelve. With an oath Snoxell started
to run, but Iremonger seized him by the
coat-collar, and held him while he shouted
in his ear, nodding his head emphatically as
he counted the strokes :

' Two — first of all, we — three — should have

175

TALKING AGAINST TIME

to start with — four — the bodies of criminals
— five— use up human waste — six — with the
bodies of criminals — seven — we could settle
the hash of the Goodwin Sands — eight — an
island in place of the Goodwin Sands — nine
— on a foundation of French — ten — and
British criminals — eleven — with a middle

stratum of — twelve Hurrah for old

Armstead !'

'Confound you!' cried Snoxell, as a
rumbling shook the room. ' The London
express has gone ; and — what do you know
of Armstead ?'

Iremonger, breathless, perspiring, and with
a sickly smile on his face, had thrown him-
self down at full length on a sofa.

' Armstead ?' he replied. ' My oldest
friend.'

'Your oldest friend!' echoed Snoxell,
falling into a chair. ' Then I'm the dupe of
a pair of shameless adventurers.'

' Gentlemen,' said Iremonger quickly, * I
have no explanation to offer, and neither,
I thinkj has the chairman in the mean-
time.'

Snoxell nodded.

* One thing I wish to say, Mr. Snoxell : I
• 176

TALKING AGAINST TIME

had no idea Armstead was in England, and
have neither seen nor heard anything of him
for a year, until I got his letter ten minutes
ago.'

* What the But it doesn't matter,'

rejoined Snoxell. ' You have one other thing
to say, I think, Mr. Iremonger,' he added
significantly.

* Yes,' rejoined Iremonger. * Believe me,
gentlemen, I have no distinct — I have really
no recollection at all of what I said. I
deeply regret what has happened ; it was,
however, unavoidable so far as I am con-
cerned. I must, of course, retire from the
contest, and I shall now write at once a
formal resignation of my candidature on the
score of sudden illness — an attack, gentle-
men, to the reality of which you can witness.'

* *- * * *

Two days after, Iremonger, breakfasting
late in his rooms in King's Bench Walk, was
surprised by visitors.

* Mr. and Mrs. Armstead.'

* What ridiculous news is this ?' cried Arm-
stead.

' My retiral, you mean ? Well Hea-
vens, Miss Snoxell !'

177 12

TALKING AGAINST TIME

* Mrs. Armstead now, old fellow.'

* I begin to understand. Perhaps it was
on her account you left England a year
ago?'

' It was, Mr. Iremonger,' said Mrs. Arm-
stead, in a fine tremor. ' But what a dread-
ful thing I have done ! Can you ever for-
give me ?'

* For making Armstead happy ?'

* Oh no ! For causing you to lose the
election.'

* I'm rather thankful than otherwise. I
lost my head, and said things my committee
could never forgive. It is better to make a
fool of one's self privately in Belminster than
publicly in the House of Commons, as I
should infallibly have done sooner or later.
Pray consider that you have rendered me
a service, my dear Mrs. Armstead. Have
some tea, and tell me all about it.'

' Act first,' said Armstead : ' I fall in love
with the orphan lady. Uncle Snoxell, who
has managed his niece's money for fifteen
years, insists on a marriage with his own son.
Lady of age, but dare not run counter to her
guardian, a strong old fellow — you know
him. Act second : I leave England in de-

178

TALKING AGAINST TIME

spair. No sooner have I sailed than the
lady acquires courage to brave her uncle,
and sends a letter which follows me half
round the world. Act third : Letter re-
ceived. I hasten home. Interview with
lady easy on account of election bustle.
Flight arranged. Suborned maid betrays
at last moment to Snoxell's son, my rival, a
foolish youth ; then repents and confesses
betrayal to me. Act fourth : Brilliant idea
— employ Iremonger as deus ex machina. No
sooner thought than done. Works like
magic. Young Snoxell loiters feebly about
the station awaiting his father. I hail him
from the carriage and offer him a cigar, which
he takes — feebly. " I say, you know," he
says, " you've got Maud in there. It'll never
do. My father's coming." I bet him ten to
one that his father won't come. He accepts,
and tosses — feebly — a sovereign at the car-
riage window as the train moves off. Act
fifth : Marriage. The bride and bridegroom
visit the good Iremonger.'

' Epilogue : " Bless you, my children." '

179

BANDEROLE'S ^.STHETIC BILL.

YOU'RE gloomy, Banderole.'
' I always am in March.'

* How's that ?'

' Because in March I mourn for my ^Es-
thetic Bill.'

' Your iEsthetic Bill?'

' Yes ; have you never heard of it ?'

* Never. Tell me about it, Banderole.'

' Shall I ? Well, I suppose I may. But
I must premise. Look at me, Magsworth.
If you were to characterize me, you would
say that I am a man of a passable appear-
ance, with — ah — a certain undignified frank-
ness— shall we call it? — and a pleasant voice.
Come, now, we've known each other for
about a week ; and that's your opinion, isn't
it ? Well-spoken, well-looking, carelessly
frank, and— shrewd withal ?'

' Yes ; I may think that you are perhaps a

1 80

BANDEROLE'S .ESTHETIC BILL

little partial to yourself; but that's about my
opinion.'

* Quite so. That is the opinion I have of
myself; that is the opinion all my new ac-
quaintances form of me ; but it is not the
opinion of my old friends ; and in six months
it will cease to be yours if you continue
knowing me.'

* I shall continue knowing you if for no
other reason than to test the truth of what
you say.'

* Very well. It was not until I was forty
that I discovered what my intimates thought
of me. Until my fortieth year, the good-
natured, undemonstrative deference with
which those who knew me best treated me
appeared to me a tribute to my shrewdness.
I use the word " shrewdness " now ; six
years ago I should have employed some such
phrase as "great talents," "indisputable
capacity," or " remarkable gifts "; but I have
had a lesson.'

' Lessons are learnt occasionally even in
these days, when people are afraid to ac-
knowledge that they were ever taken in —
even by themselves.'

* Quite true. One day, a propos of some-

i8i

BANDEROLE'S ESTHETIC BILL

thing I had said, an acquaintance exclaimed,
** You can't mean that ! It's not in keeping
with the transparent simplicity of your char-
acter." I forget what it was I had said, but
that remark about myself was a revelation to
me. I went home with it, and sat down and
thought it out. Clearly my intimates con-
sidered me a merely ingenuous person ;
brusque people took the edge off their man-
ners in dealing with me, not because they
feared me, but because they looked upon me
as a child ; and the wind was tempered for
me generally. It was a painful process, I
can tell you, having my eyes couched of the
self-complacent belief that others thought
me a thorough man of the world. Then for
a while I liked my being misunderstood. To
have the reputation of a simpleton and to
be a Macchiavelli is to enjoy a position of
great power ; and 1 went about for weeks
revelling in a perfect analysis of the motives
of all my acquaintances. I saw how they
wanted to protect me, to aid me, to save me ;
I had only to ask for a thing to have it ;
everybody wished to be able to say, " I, too,
did something for that dear fellow Bande-
role." I tired of that, however, and deter-

182

BANDEROLE'S ESTHETIC BILL

mined at last to appear in my true colours ;
but it was a most hopeless undertaking.'

' It has been said that there is nothing
more difficult to live down than a good re-
putation.'

• And well said ; I found it so. When I
did anything in the 7'6le of Macchiavelli,
people took it as a joke, and it was decided
that my simplicity of character grew daily
more transparent. It was to no purpose
that I said the bitterest things about all my
friends ; they simply quoted them to each
other as Banderole's latest, and agreed that
none but a man of the most ingenuous nature
could have detected and characterized their
faults and foibles so unerringly. I despaired
of ever appearing as I really am in the ordi-
nary walks of life ; so after much cogitation
I hit upon a distinctly original idea. Did
you ever have a distinctly original idea ?'

' I'm not sure.'

' Well, if you ever have one, you will enjoy
it, at first ; and then you will be in an agony
till you make up your mind what to do with
it. One's first penny in one's first breeches'
pocket is an icicle compared to one's first
original idea. There are so many things you

183

BANDEROLE'S ESTHETIC BILL

can do with an original idea. You may
exemplify it in your life '

* And get run in.'

* You may put it into amagazine article '

* And be snubbed for a plagiarist. You
may imbed it in a play, or bury it in three
volumes ; you may paint it, or carve it, or
sing it, and nobody will look at it or listen
to it.'

* You understand the matter. But if you
put it into a Bill and get it passed, why,
there you are for ever and ever with the
British Constitution. So I drew up a Bill
incorporating my original idea. By that
Bill I expected at one stride to step upon a
pedestal, and exhibit once for all that breadth
and subtlety which, as long as I was only
one man more in the street, escaped the ob-
servation even of those who knew me best.'

* But you were never in Parliament ?'

' No, but the Marquis of Wagstaff's son
promised to get his father to introduce the
Bill into the House of Lords. You see, it
was really a sort of sumptuary Bill, and the
Lords was the proper place for it, I was told.
I called it a " Bill for the Beautifying of
Britain," or, briefly, an " Esthetic Bill." '

184

BANDEROLE'S ESTHETIC BILL

* Umph ! Go on.'

* The Bill arranged for externals only.'

' Right. If the outside of the platter be
clean, it follows that the inside will also be
clean.'

* I am glad you think so. It was my
opinion. I have found that the best shops
make the finest show, in spite of proverbs to
the contrary. I made no attempt to be com-
prehensive, believing that, if in one or two
vast concerns an aesthetic reformation were
effected, the details would practically work
out themselves. I began with railways.
My Bill provided that railways should be
bordered all their length by gardens, and so
become, as it were, rivers of flowers flowing
across and along the whole land. The lines
themselves were to be made of steel, damas-
cened with arabesques in brass and silver.
The stations were all to be castles, kiosks,
pavilions, with drawing-rooms, dining-rooms,
smoking-rooms, upholstered artistically. I
worked out a new type of carriage superior
to anything that has ever been seen before ;
and I introduced a clause requiring all
electricians, under a heavy penalty, to labour
at the development of electro-motion. I

185

BANDEROLE'S /ESTHETIC BILL

made it penal to advertise in railway-stations ;
but that was covered by a general clause, for-
bidding all mural and open-air advertisement.
It seems to be so simple. Stop advertising,
and nobody would be a penny the worse.
On the contrar}', a great many people would
be infinitely better in temper and digestion
for you would reduce measurably the worry
of competition.'

* And what about those whose occupations
would be gone — advertising-agents and bill-
stickers ?'

' My dear Magsworth, my iEsthetic Bill
provided occupation for more people than
are ever likely to want work. Consider the
immense army of gardeners required for the
railway-borders, of skilled craftsmen to keep
my damascened lines in order. In every-
thing I touched I provided work — artistic
work — for thousands.'

* Yes ; but about this advertising. There
are many miles of dead wall in suburban
lines that would be even more sombre and
depressing were it not for the enamel and
colour of wines, perfumery, etc'

* I w^ould have the bill-stickers taught
fresco-painting — they can already wield a

1 86

BANDEROLE'S ESTHETIC BILL

brush ; and they should then cover these
walls with designs and pictures.'

' And the economy of it ? How, for
example, would your railways pay?'

' The simplest thing in the world. The
Government would, of course, take them all
over ; there would be only one class, and
one fare — a penny ; you would stick a stamp
in your hat and go anywhere — from Charing
Cross to Westminster or Wick. What
would be the result of such an arrange-
ment ? Why, Britain would practically re-
side on its railways ; and you would have
on every line, not a constant succession of
trains, but one long unbroken train, going
and coming, all day, all night. And the in-
come— I've worked it out. Suppose twenty
million people travelled a day — and I con-
sider that below the average — you would
have, at a penny a head, considerably over
^30,000,000 per annum ; but at least two-
thirds of the passengers would return the
same day, which would give you a gross
income of ^^50,000, 000.'

' Figures like these speak for themselves.
And how did you get on with Lord Wag-
staff?'

187

BANDEROLE'S ESTHETIC BILL

* Well, when I had the Bill drafted, I read
it to Wagstaff's son. He was in a hurry at
the time, but promised to tell his father
about it. I offered to send him a copy, but
he said he must speak about it first. Next
week he went off for a two-years' tour round
the world, and I don't believe he said a word
to his father, for I wrote the Marquis three
times and received no reply. It was in
March I drew up my Bill. I have never
had such a time of pleasurable excitement
since : hence my gloom.'

* And you never got on the pedestal ?'

' No. Yet I expounded my Bill to all my
friends. It is my unfortunate reputation as
a merely ingenuous person that stands in
the way. I have overheard people, after the
most eloquent exposition, saying, " Sweet
soul, Banderole !" " Dehghtful creature 1"
"So simple and confiding!" Now, Mags-
worth, honestly, tell me your opinion of my
Bill.'

' I really haven't time. I have to go — I'm
afraid I'm off on a two-years' tour round the
world.'

i88

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS.

* T T TE can't go in there,' I said to the

V V acquaintance who had persuaded
me to visit a foreign club in Whitechapel.

It was cold ; we were in a dark, narrow
street ; a drunken sailor lounged past us,
grumbling at the universe ; my companion
had knocked at a low door, and upon its
being opened I had recoiled from the noisome-
looking entry; the physical discomfort of dirt
and evil smells seemed a price too dear for
the new experience I had agreed to undergo.

' You can't go back now ; it's quite clean
inside,' replied my companion; he had visited
the club more than once.

In we went, through an open court, and
along a narrow, ill-lit passage — I shuddering
and holding my breath, my companion whist-
ling and unbuttoning his overcoat — and up
some wooden steps to a landing, where a

189

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

man, like an Italian, met us at the door of
a little room. To him my companion said
something, which he afterwards assured me
was a greeting in Yeddish, the Hebrew-
German patois. He also nodded to a woman
who was selling ginger-beer to two fur-capped
men ; she was a blonde Jewess, stout, pleasant-
looking, neatly dressed, with a cigarette be-
tween her lips. Some more steps brought
us into a small well-lit hall with a stage and
curtain at one end. It was quite clean, the
plain deal benches bearing still the marks of
a recent scouring. On the walls were in-
scriptions in Hebrew letters ; a large cartoon
of the Chicago anarchists. Spies, Parsons,
Linggard, Engel, and Fischer, who were
executed a few years ago ; and an engraving
of Lassalle — coarse ; almost a caricature; like
a composite photograph of Peace, the mur-
derer, and Lord Randolph Churchill. Some
half-dozen men were hanging about the door
— Polish Jews, my companion said.

We took seats near the middle of the room,
and had not long to wait before it filled up.
It was about five minutes to eight when we
entered, and by eight o'clock there were
nearly two hundred people assembled, men,

190

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

women, and children ; all of them clean, and
tidily dressed ; most of them remarkably con-
tented and cheerful-looking ; many of them
with fresh complexions and bright eyes ;
handsome faces among both the men and
the women. In height, the majority were
under the average. They were nearly all
Jews, I was told ; dark, blonde, auburn ;
Russian, German, Polish, Italian ; by trade,
mostly tailors and tailoresses. Conventional
Jewish features were rare, however ; among
the men, not more than every sixth face could
have been at once identified as Israelitish ;
there was less deviation in the women from
the ordinary type.

They were all Nihilists, Anarchists, the
extreme of social rebels. It was a club, but
there was no smoking or beer-drinking; they
all seemed to know each other ; families,
groups of intimates, sat together talking and
laughing; people moved about from seat to
seat, or addressed each other across the room.

* Why, this is very tame,' I said to my
companion. * Where are 3^our conspirators,
your incendiaries, your regicides ?'

He laughed, and bade me wait a little.
Shortly a bell rang, and the curtain went

191

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

up, discovering a chairman seated at a table.
Behind him was a painted scene, and on
either hand imitations of pillars and trees.
He had a large brow, gray eyes, shaved
cheeks, and a slight moustache. He was
nattily dressed, authoritative -looking, evi-
dently of more than average intelligence ; only
slightly Jewish in the cast of his features ;
liker an English than a foreign Jew. A carafe
with water, a tumbler, and a hand-bell were
on the table.

The chairman said a few words in Yeddish,
which made his hearers laugh ; then he an-
nounced a speaker and sat down.

A man left the audience, and entered on
the scene from the right. He was rather
tall, with very fair hair and fairer beard ;
mild, blue eyes ; black clothes fitting him
loosely ; dishevelled, uplifted, the type of an
enthusiast ; not a Jew. He spoke in German,
very rapidly. Only part of the audience
understood him, but all were attentive. The
speaker had no gesture, little motion of any
kind, was diffident, self-conscious, but im-
pressive. When he had spoken for a quarter
of an hour, the chairman rang his bell. In
less than five minutes the speaker wound up

192

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

his address, and was at once questioned by
two or three people successively. He gave
satisfactory answers, and resumed his seat
among the audience.

Then came a tall, chubby lad of seventeen
or eighteen, whose appearance on the plat-
form was hailed with cheers and laughter.
He was not a buffoon, however; the audience
were laughing at the recollection of humorous
sayings of the youthful orator and in antici-
pation of fresh witticisms. He spoke slowly,
smoothly, without effort, and the Yeddish
had a mellow sound in his clear rich voice.
Soon he had everybody shaking with laugh-
ter ; they laughed quietly lest they should
miss a single point. Suddenly the mirth
died down, faces grew pale, and tears came
into the eyes of women. As suddenly the
laughter burst out again, unrestrained this
time, crackling and spluttering among the
tears. The speaker alone seemed unmoved.
It was a most remarkable display in a mere
boy of the highest oratorical power.

The third and last speaker was a Polish
Jew — a little dark man with a thin, pleasant
enough face, and burning black eyes. He
was received demonstratively, and plunged

193 13

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

at once into a tirade — an indictment of
Capitalism, or of Society in general, doubt-
less. He drove his charges home with
clenched hands and a pouring delivery,
which had the effect of a shower-bath on the
audience, leaving them breathless and glow-
ing all over.

After the speeches the chairman stepped
down from the platform, and a conversazione
began, everybody smiling and in the best of
humour. Cigarettes, cigars, and a few pipes
were now lit ; and the women and children
ate cakes and drank lemonade.

* Well ?' queried my companion.

' I am much amazed and amused,' I said.
* Do you know what it reminds me of?'

' A Young Men's Mutual Improvement
Society ?'

' Very nearly. To me this meeting of
Anarchists is exactly like a church soiree.
There is, apparently, the same respectability,
the same easy, simmering excitement, the
same perfect confidence in the absolute up-
rightness of their purpose in meeting to-
gether. I should say that this club is no
more dangerous to the State than a Mission-
hall.'

194

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

* I am not so sure about the danger,'
replied my companion, ' but I agree with
the rest of what you say. Their poHtical
creed is the rehgion of these people ; and as
human nature is identical everywhere, their
weekly meetings present the same pheno-
mena as the weekly meetings of any other
body of people united in doctrine. I confess
that it has been somewhat tame to-night. I
have seen hot debates, heard hoarse cries,
and watched stealthy hands groping for
revolvers and knives.'

' What ! to fight among themselves ?'

' Oh no ! Excited almost to the point of
running amuck.'

'Come, now,' I said, 'how do you know
that there are revolvers and knives here ?'

My companion answered rather evasively.
He had interpreted certain actions to mean
the clutching of weapons ; but I gathered
that he had never seen either a knife or a
revolver within the walls of this club.

Families, groups, sweethearts, and indi-
viduals began to leave ; by half-past nine
the hall was cleared. My companion intro-
duced me, in the ante-room, to the chairman,
the speakers, and several other Anarchists ;

195

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

and I started a conversation with the crude
announcement * that popular common-sense
which regards Anarchism as synonymous with
violence and dynamite is as right as ever it
was.'

'Ah!' said the enthusiast, who spoke
English correctly, and with little accent,

* that is just what Society says, " No com-
promise "; and that is what we say.'

' But dynamite is a compromise,' I re-
joined. 'War in any form is, and always
has been, a compromise : both parties, afraid
of being put in the wrong by the " no com-
promise " of impartial arbitration, fly to
arms.'

A tolerant smile was the only reply the
enthusiast deigned to give to my paradox.

' Everyting,' said the fiery Polish Jew,

* ees gompromyce. Ze woarld ees a gom-
promyce between ze inanity and someting.'

The enthusiast rejoined in Yeddish. It
seemed to me that he was explaining to the
Polish Jew his own meaning : I wish he had
explained it to me. Then he went on in
English, ' Yes, everything is a compromise.
Life itself is the only evil, and all our organi-
zations and schemes are a compromise, or

196

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

an attempted compromise, with it. I refer
everything to the two poles, positive and
negative. The negative is the supreme
unattainable good ; the positive is the
supreme ever-present evil. If we live we
compromise; " no compromise" would be a
destruction of all life in order to attain the
unattainable.'

'Then you admit that the true doctrine
of the Anarchists is one of destruction ?'

* I do. Hegel marks the culminating
point of the purely theoretic side of modern
culture ; therefore we have arrived precisely
at the point where the necessary dissolution
of that culture ought to begin.'

'Why, then, you are a Nihilist,' said my
companion.

' If you like. I would prefer, however, to be
called an A «nihilist. I have never quite under-
stood how the word Nihilist got its vogue.
We don't believe in nothing; on the con-
trary, we are intoxicated with belief in every-
thing conceivable, and wish to annihilate it.'

This the enthusiast said with nonchalant
gravity, as if it were even simpler to organize
a revolution for the annihilation of humanity
than for the overthrow of a government.

197

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

* But would you not be content with
change V I asked.

' For my part, I believe change is im-
possible. The form may alter, has altered,
again and again ; but you will always have
dominant and serving classes, always rich
and poor.'

At this a tall, red-bearded German, who
spoke good English, burst in with a dis-
claimer.

' No, no !' he cried ; ' you misrepresent
Anarchism — or, at least, you may cause this
gentleman to misunderstand it. Anarchism
is the individual revolution as distinct from
the collective revolution. The collective
revolution is impossible, because we exist,
not as a community, but only as individuals.
You see ? There is nothing above me,
nothing without me, nothing within me,
greater than myself I do not submit
myself to my spirit, mind you. My spirit,
like my flesh, is only one of my qualities ;
the individual is more than soul and body.'

' Well, now, what is the individual ?' asked
my companion.

* The individual, the ego !' replied the
German. * There are no words to define it ;

198

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

it is unsayable ; it cannot be named ; it is
perfect ; every individual is every instant
exactly what he can be, and nothing more or
less. I know of nothing that can impose
duty on me. I do not consider myself as an
individual among other individuals, but as
the only individuality which exists. All
things — men and so-called property — are my
goods and chattels in proportion as my force
allows me to appropriate them.'

The enthusiast attempted an interruption
at this point in the German's harangue, but
the latter bore him down.

' You see, it is simply freedom,' he said,
' and one is free in proportion as one is
strong ; there is no liberty except what you
take. The State, Religion, Humanitarianism,
Socialism — all that disappears before the
sovereign Me. Truth itself signifies nothing.
Thoughts are the creatures of the individual ;
they are not themselves the individual. I
say that to believe in a truth, in any truth,
is to abdicate the individual. Thus we are
all fighting against each other, and every
weapon is allowable — poison, infernal ma-
chines, because all that is required to become
immediately endowed with an inalienable

199

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

right to have a thing is that one should
desire to possess it.'

' Would it not be wise, then/ I asked, ' in
an individual holding your opinions, to keep
them to himself ? For his own sake, I mean ;
he will have a better chance of securing
what he wants if he alone acts on his "no
principle." You are too benevolent ; you arm
everyone against you if you tell the world
that you have taken for your creed the
negation of the decalogue.'

' Error !' said the red-haired German
coolly. ' It is not for love of men, still less
for love of truth, that I express my thoughts,
but for my own pleasure exclusively. I speak
because I have a voice, and I address you
because you have ears for which my voice
was intended.'

* Let me speak now,' said the chairman-
' I should like this gentleman to see that
there are as many kinds of Anarchism as
there are men. Me^ for example. I want to
be a tyrant ; to relieve the world of all moral
clogs and world-old prejudices; to be the
anarch, and found a new religion and a new
legislative system for my own glory.'

The chairman's brief declaration elicited

200

AMONG THE ANARCHISTS

no surprise from his companions, and I
received it as a matter of course.

* I understand Anarchism now,' I said ; * it
is simply. Every man his own god.'

* Precisely,' said the enthusiast.

' Of course you are all wrong,' said my
companion. ' Don't you see that Anarchism
is the exaggeration of the idea of Liberty,
just as Socialism is the exaggeration of the
idea of Equality. Both have parted com-
pany with each other, and with Fraternity.
In my opinion. Society is quite healthy,
although its constitution may be run down —
largely the result, I should say, of a dissipa-
tion in Liberty and Equality. You have
divorced these two ideas from Fraternity,
without which they cannot hold water. Did
nobody ever say to you, " Little children,
love one another " ? Liberty, Equality,
Fraternity ! For the first two we want to
substitute Duty and Reverence. Fraternity
means Charity.'

Those who understood him smiled toler-
antly and went for their hats ; they were not
there to listen. They wished us * Good-
night ' frankly and cheerily, and my com-
panion and I took our departure.

20I

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND.

HAROLDA lived with a lady whom she
called aunt, in a noisy street in the
north of London. She was rather a forlorn
little girl, although the lady treated her very
well indeed. Her uncle, as she called the
lady's husband, never forgot her birthday ;
and when she was seven years old he gave
her a book of fairy-stories, containing many
coloured pictures and very little reading.
Harolda was not clever, and it took her all
her time to spell out the stories. But she
liked stories much better than the other
children in the house did, and this made her
the favourite of an old lady who lived across
the way, and knew a great many tales and
delighted to tell them. After tea Harolda
would cross the road with her doll to this old
lady's house, and would hear of giants and
jins and fairies, of underground palaces and

202

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

enchanted forests, and of poor girls who had
married beautiful princes. Most people would
have thought Harolda a very simple-minded
little girl, for she longed greatly to go to an
enchanted forest ; but she never thought of
setting out in search of one as long as she
had the old lady to talk to.

At last, shortly before the end of Harolda's
eighth year, the old lady left the neighbour-
hood, and nobody could say where she had
gone to. So Harolda, having no one to tell
her any stories, made up her mind to do
nothing less than go in search of Fairyland
itself; she thought that perhaps a story
might happen to her. She intended at first
to ask one of the children who had called
her 'cousin' to accompany her; but she
changed her mind when she remembered
how they had all made such a jest of her
and her fancies. Therefore she took with
her only her doll and her picture-book.

It was after tea that she set out, because
it was her habit at that time of the day to
have her mind filled with stories of fairies
and with the hope of an adventure in Fairy-
land. Harolda's holidays had always been
spent at sea-coast places, and she had never

203

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

seen a forest. She had heard, however, of
one near London, called Epping Forest ;
and it was to it she meant to go. When she
had got two or three streets away from the
one she lived in, she went up to a policeman
who was standing on the edge of the pave-
ment, and said to him :

* Please tell me the way to Epping Forest.'
The policeman looked down at her with a

curious expression on his face, and said
nothing for such a long time that she began
to think he was an enchanted policeman.

' Epping Forest V he exclaimed at last.
* Wh}', you're nearly four miles from Epping
Forest ! Have you lost your way ?'

'No,' she said, 'not yet; but I hope to
when I get to the forest.'

' Oh, you do !' exclaimed the policeman,
not knowing what to make of Harolda, for
she talked what he thought either nonsense
or impudence, and yet looked so much in
earnest.

* What direction is it ?' asked Harolda
wistfully. ' Will this street take me ?'

' It's on the way,' said the policeman.
' Thank you,' said Harolda, and tripped off
with her book and her doll.

204

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

It was a very long street, with few turnings
in it, and when she came to the end of it she
already felt tired.

* Which is the way to Epping Forest ?'
she said to a postman, thinking that he
would be likely to know the shortest way to
anywhere.

The postman, hurrying past her, turned
his head to say something over his shoulder ;
but Harolda had such a pleading face, and
was so quaint and pretty in her looks and
her dress, that the postman was constrained
to stop. He looked at her curiously, as the
policeman had done, and said :

' Epping Forest ! Which part of Epping
Forest ?'

' I want,' said Harolda, ' to go to that part
of Epping Forest where the fairies live and
all the beasts can speak.'

' Oh, you do ?' exclaimed the postman, just
as the policeman had done. ' Well, it's
some miles from here, I reckon. But you'd
best take a train.'

* Oh no !' cried Harolda, with a scared
look ; ' I would never think of such a thing.
We must walk, unless we have an enchanted
horse or something.'

205

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

' Well,' said the postman, laughing, ' take
the second to the right, and keep on as far
as that road goes, and then ask again.'

* Oh, thank you !' said Harolda.

The postman, as long as she was in sight,
looked back at her wonderingly each time he
delivered a letter.

Harolda was hardly able to drag one foot
after another when she came to the end of
the postman's road; but she was not going
to give in, so she asked a milkman this
time.

' Epping Forest !' said the milkman.
'Why, I come from there, and I'm going
back now. Have you lost your way ?'

' Oh no !' said Harolda. ' How can I
lose my way till I get there ?'

* Eh ?' said the milkman, who was a
kind-hearted man, but not very intelligent.
' Well, I'm going Woodford way, and you
can jump in if you like.'

* Thank you very much,' said Harolda.
' Is Woodford near Epping Forest ?'

* Why, it's in it,' replied the milkman.
Harolda wondered a little, but forbore

any more questions, and stepped into the
milkman's cart.

206

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

By rows of houses, lines of trees and high
hedges, they rattled and clattered along.
The milkman whistled and hummed tunes,
while Harolda nursed her doll and looked at
her picture-book. In half an hour's time
they came among gardens and pleasant
villas. Shortly after they entered a little
street, and the milkman pulled up before a
dairy.

* But this is not the forest,' said Harolda,
getting out.

' Yes, it is,' said the milkman. * It's all
forest about here.'

* But where is the place where the fairies
Hve and all the beasts can talk ?'

'What a funny little girl you are!' said
the milkman, beginning to carry his cans
into the dairy.

With a sinking heart Harolda left the
milkman and went up the street. Opposite
the church she met a girl a few years older
than herself, and she asked her where the
true forest was — ' where there are no houses,
but only trees and grass and bushes and
ferns, where the fairies live and all the beasts
can talk.'

The girl was good-natured, and although

207

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

she laughed at Harolda, she took her to a
lane and showed her where at the end of it
a wood appeared,

* Perhaps,' said Harolda, ' you are a fairy.'

* Oh no!' replied the girl, laughing merrily.

* And the milkman and his cart,' said
Harolda anxiously ; * do you think they
weren't sent by the fairies ?'

* I think not,' said the laughing girl. * But
I don't know what you mean.'

* Good-bye, and thank you,' said Harolda.
Her courage rose again at the sight of the

wood, and she ran along the lane quite
briskly, because she had been much rested
by her ride in the milkman's cart. She
crept through a fence, and soon found her-
self knee-deep in feathery grass. A blush
had mounted to her cheeks, which were
usually rather pale, and her blue eyes
glowed as if little beacons had been lit in
them. She pressed on, looking eagerly into
the shade ; but just when she began to feel
that now at last she might expect to meet a
fairy, the wood came to a sudden end, and
she saw a road and garden walls, and the
red roofs of houses. Two big tears rolled
down her cheeks, and a sob shook her little

208

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

body; but she turned back to where the
trees were thickest, and went forward in a
different direction. This time she came to
a close wooden fence, much too high for her
to cHmb, and she saw clearly that she had
not yet arrived in the forest. She therefore
left the little wood, and, looking about her in
the lane, perceived at some distance a high
ridge extending east and west, and densely
covered with trees. That must be the forest,
she thought ; and off she set straight for it
through fields and over fences. It was a
very tiresome way ; she had to take many
roundabouts, and sometimes to retrace her
steps ; and at last, when she thought there
was nothing between her and the forest but
a little plain where some horses were feed-
ing, she fell headlong into a deep ditch, and
got herself all wet and dirty, and lost both
her shoes ; but she saved her doll and her
picture-book. She was so near the goal,
however, that this misfortune hardly troubled
her. Over the little grassy plain she ran, as
if she had been beginning instead of ending
her journey ; but when she came to the true
forest she was dismayed to find no entrance.
On every side she was met by a wall of

209 14

The interregnum in fairyland

thorns and brambles and briars, through
which only a weasel could make a way, or
a woodman with an axe. However, she
found a broad path like an avenue bordering
the forest, and this she followed, looking
carefully all the time for a break in the wall
of underwood.

It was now well on in the evening, and
would soon be quite dark. A low hum and
faint muffled noises came out of the forest,
and fear began to make Harolda's heart
flutter. She was thinking, half gladly, that
perhaps she would find no way in, when a
moaning like that of a woman in distress
began close beside her, and at the same
time a dark opening appeared between two
blackthorn bushes. Her first impulse was to
run away ; then she burst into tears, feeling
how tired she was, and remembering that
she had lost her shoes, and that she was
many miles from home in a lonely wood all
by herself, and the night fast approaching.

The moaning grew louder and more dis-
tressing. 'Poor woman!' thought Harolda,
' she may be dying. Perhaps I can help
her.' Without more ado, and the tears still
running down her cheeks, she went in by

2IO

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

the dark opening between the blackthorn
bushes, and came at once upon the woman
who was moaning so bitterly. Harolda could
see that the woman's clothes were ragged,
and that her gray hair was dishevelled ; but
the face of the woman was hidden on her
knees as she rocked herself to and fro.

* My baby !' she moaned ; ' my boy ! His
eyes were like pansies, and his laugh was
like the brook's. Where have they hidden
him ?'

Harolda shuddered and clasped her doll ;
if her doll were to be taken from her, she
would lament like that, she knew. Her heart
would certainly break if she were to lose her
doll for ever and ever. She couldn't re-
member a time when she didn't have it. Its
wooden face was chipped, and all the paint
/ gone except the pupil of one eye ; but it had
slept in her bosom every night for five years;
she had dressed it in its best clothes for the
journey ; and she loved it so much. It was
the only thing she had in the world to love
now ! It was her baby ; and she did pity
with all her heart this poor woman who had
lost hers.

' Oh, my boy, my little boy !' moaned the

21 I

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

woman, suddenly flinging up her head and
staring in front of her. * Lost ! lost !'

Harolda shuddered again. In the dim
light she could just see the woman's face —
the eyes and the hollow cheeks, so hopeless
and so full of pain. Her little heart ached
with sympathy, all the more because the
woman was very like the old lady who had
told her fairy tales.

' Poor woman !' she said ; and then, with-
out thinking that she was bereaving herself,
she went up to her, and laid her doll on the
woman's knees.

' What !' cried the woman, clutching it
and holding it out at arm's length. ' My
baby! my boy!' and she hugged it in her
arms and wrapped it in her shawl.

' Oh, my dolly !' moaned Harolda, realizing
what she had done.

She made a motion with outstretched arms,

as if to reclaim her property ; but the woman

seemed not to see her, and began to hum a

lullaby :

' Where shall my little one play in his childhood ?
Swing him a cradle deep in the wildwood,
Where the timid squirrel abides,
And the frightened roe-deer hides,
Where the bronzy slow-worm crawls,
And the mousing owlet calls.'

312

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

As she sang, an extraordinary change came
over her. Her gray hair changed to gold ;
her hollow cheeks filled out ; sparks of fire
seemed to run this way and that through her
rags ; and before the verse was finished she
stood up in the greenwood, a beautiful fairy
in glistening robes. And more wonderful
still, Harolda's doll had become a little boy
baby, with eyes like pansies and a laugh like
a rippling brook. It was quite dark now,
but Harolda saw the fairy and the changeling
clearly by the light that shone from their
dresses and their hair and their eyes.

* Oh !' cried Harolda from the very bottom
of her heart, clasping her hands, and letting
her book fall in her astonishment and delight.

* Your book has fallen, little girl,' said the
fairy. ' Pick it up and give it to my baby.'

Harolda did as she was told at once ; and
the baby clutched the book, and crowed and
sucked the corners.

Then the fairy took off a satchel of sewed
work with a silver mount, and a pearl em-
broidered belt which she wore, and gave
them to Harolda, and told her to put them
on. When Harolda had fastened the belt
with trembling fingers round her waist, she

213

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

was told to open the satchel and take out
the things that were in it. The first thing
that she took out was a diamond as big as a
large bean, and it shone like a glow-worm in
her hand.

' Do you remember,' said the fairy, * when
you found that the little wood was not the
forest, how two great tears rolled down your
cheeks ?'

* No,' said Harolda, who remembered about
the wood, but had forgotten all about her
tears.

* Never mind,' said the fairy, ' take out the
other one.'

Sure enough, when Harolda put her hand
into the satchel again, she found a second
diamond as large as the first.

* These are your two tears,' said the fairy.
* Put in your hand again. Now, what do you
feel?'

' I feel as if the little bag were full of peas
and barley,' replied Harolda.

' Take out a handful,' said the fairy.

Harolda took out a handful, and found that
the things like peas and barley were pearls
of various sizes, but all of the first water.
Some of them fell on the ground, and first

214

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

they changed into dewdrops, and then into
daisies.

* These pearls,' said the fairy, * are the
shower of tears you shed a httle while ago,
when you heard me crying. Now put them
all back.'

When Harolda had replaced the pearls
and the diamonds in the satchel and shut it
up, the fairy said :

* I have only one gift to give you, for these
pearls and diamonds were your own from the
first. You shall henceforth have the power
of seeing in the dark. Turn your back to
me and close your eyes.'

Harolda obeyed at once, and the fairy
said :

' Count twenty, open your eyes, and go
straight forward till you meet Irkanda, the
great enchantress, whom you must obey as
you have obeyed me.'

As soon as Harolda had counted twenty,
she looked behind her ; but the fairy and
her baby and the picture-book had vanished.
She was not dismayed, however, feeling cer-
tain that she would see them again. Besides,
all her thoughts were taken up with her
satchel and its contents, with her new gift

215 ■

THE liNTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

of sight by night, and with the expectation
of meeting the enchantress, Irkanda. She
could see as clearly as in the daytime, only
everything had a very strange appearance ;
she thought it must be like walking at the
bottom of the sea. A way seemed to open
up for her, and she went on and on until at
last she thought she could go no farther, for
her stockings were torn to threads, and her
feet were bleeding; she hadn't eaten any-
thing for hours, and it was long past her
bed-time. Suddenly she saw, a little to one
side, a double green light. Towards this
she went, being now quite fearless, and
imagining that it was for her guidance.
When she came to it she found that the
double green light was in the top of a pollard
oak-tree ; but what it was doing there, and
what help it could be to her, she could not
conceive, because there was no way past the
oak-tree. Then, to her horror, when she
tried to retrace her steps she was unable to
find the path she had left, or any path.
About her on every side the blackthorn
rose like a wall, and behind it the trees
clustered like a palisade.
'I've lost my way!' she cried, sinking on

216

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

her knees, and forgetting altogether that this
was a thing she had hoped to do, hke httle
girls she had read of.

* Where do you want to go to ?' asked a
harsh voice from the top of the pollard-oak,
while the double green light rose up in the
air and then dropped to the ground.

The green lights were the eyes of a large
dog-fox that had been resting, as is the
manner of foxes, in the top of the pollard-
tree. Now, this fox was not a true fox, but
the wicked enchanter Declarabol, who was
in the habit of taking the forms of beasts,
and birds, and reptiles in order to pry into
and thwart, if possible, the good purposes of
the enchantress Irkanda, whom he hated.

* I am seeking the enchantress Irkanda,'
said Harolda.

* I can take you to her,' said the fox — or,
rather, Declarabol — as softly as he could,
wagging his tail with unfeigned delight.

As a rule, he found it difficult to overcome
the suspicions of those he wished to betray ;
but Harolda was so enraptured at finding
herself in the true forest, where the fairies
dwell and the beasts can speak, that she never
thought of doubting the fox's good faith.

217

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

* What have you in your little bag ?' asked
Declarabol.

' Oh, my tears,' answered Harolda quite
truthfully, but not wishing to tell the fox
everything.

' Humph !' rejoined Declarabol, not by any
means satisfied with Harolda's reply, but
afraid to say more lest he should arouse her
suspicions.

Then Declarabol, who had by enchantment
closed up the path, opened it again, and led
Harolda through the thicket to the way
which the good fairy had told her to follow.
This wicked magician was very sly and
wary. Harolda was no concern of his ; it
was Irkanda whom he wished to damage ;
so he judged it best for his plans to bring
the little girl safely to the great enchantress,
in the hope of finding out what new scheme
for the good of Fairyland Irkanda had on
hand.

' This,' said Declarabol, stopping suddenly,
and pointing with his nose to a knoll on
which a hawthorn grew, ' is the house of
Irkanda. You must knock at the door.'

The door, which was of bronze, richly
decorated in low relief, stood in the side of

218

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

the knoll, and when Harolda knocked, it
swung open with a musical sound. The fox
trotted in at once, and she followed ; where-
upon the door swung to — again with a musical
sound.

Harolda found herself in a large low room
with a groined ceiling, like the crypt of a
church. A single silver lamp hung by silver
chains from the centre of the roof; in it
burned a sweet-smelling oil, and the light had
a rosy hue. There was tapestry on the walls ;
strange implements were strewed about the
floor ; and at the back of the room Irkanda
sat on a couch of tigers' skins, spinning a
golden thread in the old-fashioned manner
without a wheel ; and she sang this song as
she spun :

'The world spins round, and the moon ;
And the sun spins round itself;
And this is my distaff tune,
As I twirl the shining pelf.

' The spider spins in the furze,
And the dew begems his net ;
Fate's unseen spindle whirrs,'
And the thread with blood is wet.

' But tears nor blood shall stain,
Nor rust of death or sin,
The thread of golden grain
I spin, I spin.'

219

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

The deep low singing of the great enchan-
tress overpowered Harolda, and she stood
hke a statue. Declarabol trembled as he
always did in the presence of Irkanda, for
she was stronger than he, and was his mis-
tress in all the arts of sorcery and witchcraft,
although she used them only for blameless
ends. But while Declarabol trembled, he
was no coward. It is possible to be sick
with terror, and yet to go on unflinchingly
braving the cause of the terror ; and this is
possible to the worst as to the best.

Irkanda sang her song several times
before she laid her distaff by. She ceased
singing and spinning at the same time,
and then, without looking at Harolda, she
said :

' Give me one of your diamonds.'

' Diamonds !' thought Declarabol, as he
watched Harolda open her satchel and give
one of her transformed tears to the enchan-
tress ; * the girl is not such a simpleton, after
all.'

As soon as she had it, Irkanda struck a
bell that lay on the couch beside her, and a
little gnome appeared dressed in russet with
a red nightcap on his head.

220

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

* Bring Harolda,' said Irkanda, ' the Un-
tiring Shoes.'

The gnome vanished, and reappeared again
almost instantaneously with three com-
panions, carrying among them a pair of
shoes, each of which was as big as Harolda's
whole body.

' They were last worn by a giant, ^ said
Irkanda. ' Step into them, Harolda.'

Harolda hesitated a second, but remem-
bering how the fairy had told her to obey
Irkanda promptly, she put her feet into the
enormous shoes, which immediately shrank
to the exact size of her feet ; at the same
time all her sense of weariness left her, and
she felt as if she could fly.

* Give me the other diamond,' said Irkanda.
* Bring a vial of the Aroma of Life,' she
continued, when Harolda had given her the
second diamond.

In a moment one of the gnomes had
brought a small green vial, which he handed
to Harolda.

* Bring me Harolda's pearls,' said Irkanda.
One of the gnomes took off his nightcap,

and when Harolda had emptied the pearls
into it, he carried them to the enchantress,

221

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

who received them in a satchel of her own,
larger, but of the same make as Harolda's.

' Now,' continued Irkanda, * in these Un-
tiring Shoes, you could easily walk round
the world without a halt. When you are
sleepy or thirsty, or your spirits are low,
smell the Aroma of Life, or put a drop of it
on your tongue, and you will be immediately
refreshed.'

Harolda, who was very dizzy and thirsty,
took out the stopper of the vial, and smelt
the aroma, and tasted it also : the scent made
her feel as if she had just come out of the
sea, and been rubbed down with a flesh-
brush ; and the taste sent an exquisite thrill
along all her nerves, and seemed to expand
her whole body and mind. Irkanda smiled
indulgently as Harolda was testing the effects
of the contents of the vial, and then said :

* When you are hungry, put your hand in
your satchel, and you will find food.'

Harolda, who was quite famished for want
of something to eat, thrust her hand into her
satchel, and brought out a little cake of a
ghstening white colour streaked with crimson.
It was hardly bigger than a crown piece,
which disappointed her very much, as she

222

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

had never been so hungry in her Hfe before.
Then she thought that perhaps the satchel
might be full of food ; so she put her hand
in again, but brought it forth empty. With
a sigh she began to nibble the edge of the
cake, and, behold, she had never tasted any-
thing like it before ! It seemed to savour of
everything she liked best. In three seconds
she finished it, and, to her astonishment, her
hunger was quite satisfied ; and yet, although
she felt that the ripest peach would hardly
tempt her to eat again at that time, she had
none of the miserable sensations she had
sometimes experienced on Christmas Day
after dinner.

' Fox, fox, fox,' said Irkanda, 'are you a
good fox and true ?'

' The truest fox in the forest, O Irkanda,'
replied Declarabol.

It was the case that Irkanda, on account
of her greatness of soul, was as easily de-
ceived as a child : that was the sole advan-
tage Declarabol had over her. Nevertheless
Irkanda was the most wonderful enchantress
that ever lived.

* Swear by the crab-apple, the hawthorn,
and the mistletoe, to lead Harolda safe into

223

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

Fairyland, with all the beasts to guard her,'
said Irkanda in a terrible voice.

' I swear,' replied Declarabol huskily, while
he shook like a leaf.

The door then swung open of itself with a
musical sound, and Harolda and Declarabol
returned once more to the forest and the
night ; and just as the door closed behind
them they heard Irkanda resume her distaff
and her song :

* The spider spins in the furze,
And the dew begems his net ;
Fate's unseen spindle whirrs.
And the thread with tears is wet.'

Declarabol trotted through the forest at
a great rate, and Harolda in her Untiring
Shoes easily kept pace with him. In a deep
hollow Declarabol halted, and told Harolda
to wait for him while he went to summon
the beasts to guard her into Fairyland.

Now, Declarabol had no intention of ful-
filling his oath. Once out of sight of Harolda,
he rubbed himself against a mountain-ash,
and straightway appeared in his own proper
person, which was that of a black man with
wings like a bat and horns like a goat.
Mounting into the air, he flew to the north

224

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

end of the forest and alighted at the door of
a hut, in which, although it was now after
midnight, a light still burned. He folded
his wings and entered without knocking.

' Declarabol !' said Rabbitskin, the inhabi-
tant of the hut, as soon as he heard the
latch lifted ; ' I know by the itching of my
ears.'

Rabbitskin was a foolish, ill -instructed
enchanter whom Declarabol often employed.
Like most foolish people, he was very vain,
and was constantly imposing on himself.
Nobody ever visited him after midnight,
except Declarabol; and as Declarabol had
always something to tell him when he came,
and, as a rule, an advantageous proposal to
make, the itching of his ears can be under-
stood quite well.

With great gravity and self-importance he
said to Declarabol, ' By my art I knew it
was you.'

* Ha 1' said Declarabol, who always flattered
Rabbitskin when he had need of his services,
' there's no deceiving you, Rabbitskin. If
you only had a fair chance, old fellow, I
believe you would outstrip us all'

Rabbitskin chuckled, and dished the stew

225 IS

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

which was simmering on the fire into two
porringers ; and two spoons were soon as
busy as two hungry enchanters could ply
them.

* And now to business,' said Declarabol,
when he had finished his portion. ' Irkanda
has some grand scheme afoot.'

* About the lost King and Queen of Fairy-
land ?•

* Perhaps. A little girl has come into the
forest, and Irkanda has given her the Un-
tiring Shoes and the Aroma of Life, and
caused a cake of manna to be in her satchel
whenever she is hungry. She has further
instructed a fox to gather the beasts to-
gether to guard this little girl into Fairy-
land. If Harolda is the lost Queen, and
should get back to her kingdom, it's all up
with us.'

* How so ?' asked Rabbitskin.

* Because,' answered Declarabol, ' the in-
terregnum in Fairyland would come to an
end, and with the restoration of authority
we should be reduced to the state of impo-
tence in which we were eight years ago ; for
all the forests would be so jealously guarded
and the air so filled with counter-spells that

226

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

we should be unable to move either hand or
foot.'

' But,' said Rabbitskin, ' if the Queen is
only a httle girl, what would it matter?'

' Man alive !' exclaimed Declarabol, losing
patience. * The Queen a little girl ! The
Queen was enchanted !'

*Ah! ah!' rejoined Rabbitskin medita-
tively. He knew nothing about history, and
never read the Sorcerers Herald, and yet was
afraid to show his ignorance.

' I see you understand nothing of the
matter,' said Declarabol. ' You must know,
then, that it is a hundred years since the
chief wicked enchanters and evil spirits in
the world conspired together to put the
King and Queen of Faery under a spell.
In spite of all their efforts, it was only eight
years ago that they succeeded. How it was
done I don^t know; I was just out of my
apprenticeship then, and the secret was not
confided to me — much to my own satisfac-
tion now, for every enchanter and evil spirit
who took part in the conspiracy died within
a year in lingering agonies. That was
Irkanda's doing; she was then just coming
to the front as an enchantress. Great as

327

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

she is, she has been eight years trying to
find out the nature of the enchantment of
the King and Queen of Faery, and I don't
believe she ever will. When she began to
kill off the conspirators, ever so many of
them offered to tell the secret if she would
spare them ; but in her pride she wouldn't
hear of it, declaring that her own art was
sufficient. Enchanted the King and Queen
of Faery are, thanks to the glorious dead ;
no one has heard tell of them since the day
of their disappearance ; and along with them
vanished The Book of the Laws of Fairy-
land.'

* Ay, ay,' said Rabbitskin.

* Well, then, whether this little girl has
anything to do with the enchantment of the
King and Queen of Faery or not, I can't say;
but that Irkanda favours her is enough for
me. Now while this fox is away gathering
together the beasts, the little girl waits in a
den well known to me. I want to turn you
into a fox, and to carry you on my back to
the little girl before the other fox brings the
beasts together. You will then lead her to
my cave, and I shall take care of her after
that.'

228

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

' And what will you give me ?'

' Give you ? I'll give you the power of
making withered oak-leaves into gold.'

'You will!' cried Rabbitskin, astonished
at the unusual liberality of his employer.
' Come on !'

Declarabol pronounced a spell in a terrible
language, and in less than a minute Rabbit-
skin stood on four legs, a dog-fox of the
very fur in which Declarabol himself had
lately walked the forest. Having extin-
guished the lamp and the fire, Declarabol
led the way out ; and, with Rabbitskin on
his shoulders, spread his wings and flew
back to within a short distance of the den
where he had left Harolda. There he de-
posited Rabbitskin, gave him some final
instructions, and took flight to his own
place.

So rapid had been the passage of De-
clarabol to and from the hut of Rabbitskin,
the enchanters had despatched their supper
so expeditiously, and struck up their bargain
so promptly, that Harolda had to wait barely
twenty minutes for the return of the fox.

' Oh, dear fox,' she said, when Rabbitskin
appeared, looking from the tips of his ears

229

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

to the tip of his tail in every hue and hair
exactly as Declarabol had looked in the same
disguise, ' I am so glad you have come back.
But where are the beasts ?'

' They are all assembled half a mile from
here waiting for us,' replied Rabbitskin.
* Were you frightened ?'

'No,' rejoined Harolda, 'only very, very
impatient. I have taken two drops of the
Aroma of Life, and eaten another cake, and
I could hardly keep my legs from running
away. Oh ! how I long to get to Fairyland,
for there I shall see my dolly again turned
into a baby boy, with eyes like pansies and
a laugh like a little brook ! Come away,
dear fox.'

* Ha ! hum !' muttered Rabbitskin to him-
self. * A fine Fairyland Declarabol has
ready for her, I bet my brush ! Serve her
jolly well right, too, interfering minx ! As
quick as you like,' he said aloud ; and they
set off at a pace which only the fleetest
creatures can maintain for any time at all.
' Here we are !' he cried in a minute or two,
stopping at a knoll like that in which Irkanda
lived, but smaller. ' You must knock at the
door.'

230

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

Harolda knocked, and the door, which
was of oak studded with iron nails, opened
at once, screeching on its hinges. She was
about to enter, when a hideous yell arose
immediately behind her. Looking round in
alarm, she saw the figures of three animals
rolling on the turf. What they were doing
she could not make out, they wriggled so ;
but at last the fox rolled over dead, and two
polecats, who had bitten through his neck
on either side, slunk off into the forest. By
this time Declarabol, in his own shape, had
come out of his knoll. He smiled when he
saw the fox lying dead, and uttered an odd
cry. After a short interval an answer came
from some distance, and soon four horned
owls flew up on noiseless wings. They
perched on a low branch of an old oak that
grew near Declarabol's knoll, and said, one
after the other, slowly, gravely, and under
their breath, as it were, ' Towhit, towhoo !
Towhit, towhoo ! Towhit, towhoo ! To-
whit, towhoo!' And their eight orange-
coloured eyes sparkled in the midst of the
feathery discs on either side of their black
beaks like carbuncles in brooches of tarnished
gold.

231

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

Declarabol addressed them briefly in the
beasts' argot, and in tones of command.
"Without delay they came down from the
tree, and two taking the fox by the fore-legs
and two by the hind-legs, they mounted into
the air and flew away with him.

Then Declarabol uttered a spell and passed
his hand twice in front of Harolda's face ;
and when she tried to ask him what it all
meant, she found she was unable to speak ;
nor could she cause any sound at all to issue
from her mouth. Declarabol dragged her
across his threshold, and, having closed and
barred the door, thrust her into an iron
cage, which stood ready in the middle of the
room.

Keeping back her tears and holding her
breath, Harolda watched Declarabol. The
enchanter went to a cupboard, from which
he took a long slim bottle and a green glass
with a crooked stem. Having seated him-
self on a low chair under the bronze lamp,
which hung by bronze chains from the ceil-
ing, he thrice filled the glass with a dancing
yellow liquor, and drank it off to the dregs
each time, chuckling and eyeing Harolda
with glances that made her blood run cold.

232

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

* Well,' he said, settling himself in his
chair, 'whoever you are, I've caught you
nicely. Oh ! I've done a good night's work,
for the fox that led you through the forest is
dead — killed and carried off by my slaves,
and laid where Irkanda's folk will find him ;
and then a certain enchanter, who thought
no end of himself, and knew a little more of
my secrets than I cared about, has vanished
unaccountably, and without learning how to
make withered oak-leaves into gold, either.
A good night's work ! A very, very good
night's work ! And now I wonder what I
shall do with you, my little dear. Shall I
keep you and make terms for myself, or
shall I kill you to spite Irkanda? That's
what this shall determine. When I have
dreamt an hour,' he went on, after drinking
another glass of the yellow liquor, ' I shall
know what I must do.'

And immediately he fell asleep.

Harolda was on the point of fainting with
terror, when she remembered her vial. She
sniffed it and took a drop of it, and recovered
her courage at once. But in a little while
the dreadful snoring of Declarabol so worked
upon her excited nerves that she was glad

233

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

to have recourse again to the Aroma of Life.
She kept tasting it and putting it to her
nostrils, for the effect of it was wonderfully
exhilarating, making her feel not so much as
if she didn't care, but as if she had the power
to do whatever she chose. The extra-
ordinary sense of expansion, both of body
and mind, became so pleasant with the
continuous tasting and smelling of the
aroma, that at last, beside herself with
delight, she drank off half the vial. Then
a marvel took place, such as Harolda had
never heard or read of: she began to grow,
sensibly and visibly ; all her limbs, her body,
her neck, her head, shot up and filled out,
like some flower an Eastern enchanter causes
to spring and blossom in a minute. She
had no growing pains, but it seemed as if
her nerves and muscles twanged and hummed
as they extended with her body, while the
blood sang in all her veins. In a few minutes
her head struck the roof of the cage. Faint
and afraid, she bent herself at first, but after
drinking the rest of the vial she stood erect
again, happy and confident. Sure enough,
her head burst through the iron bars of the
cage ; and, in a little while, as a butterfly breaks

234

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

its chrysalis, she stepped out of it altogether
— a wonderful creature, taller than women
are, more exquisitely shaped, and much
more beautiful to behold. Her dress also
had changed, and she now wore purple robes
of the iinest texture, embroidered with gold ;
she had on golden sandals, and her belt and
satchel had grown with her growth. Her
wonder at her transformation was still only
dawning, when Declarabol, disturbed by the
breaking of the cage, wakened, rubbed his
eyes, and stared about him.

' Sarapapapapai !' he shrieked, starting up,
when he saw the cage in ruins.

But when he beheld Harolda standing
majestic, beautiful, and fearless in the midst
of the cave, he threw up his hands and fell
to the floor a gibbering idiot. Harolda
looked at him in disgust for a second or
two ; then she unbarred the door and went
out into the forest. She wanted to shout,
she wanted to laugh, she wanted to sing ;
but the spell was on her, and she could utter
no sound of any kind. As she walked about
among the trees, the rapture of her whole
being found expression in eloquent move-
ments of her arms, and golden glances

^35

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

rained from her eyes on every hand. A
brown owl, flying overhead, noticed her
gracious movements and the stateHness of
her carriage, and, being an inquisitive owl,
he perched on a tree to see her pass. No
sooner did he catch sight of Harolda's face
than he rose into the air with a wild scream
of delight and flew off. Harolda wondered
a little, but went on her way ravished with
the depths of darkness and mysterious noises
of the forest, and with the beauty of the
night. When she came to a wide glade that
sloped up before her like an amphitheatre,
she felt constrained to stand still and wait
for a little.

' Something else is about to happen,' she
said to herself.

She had paused only for a few seconds,
when a new murmur and rustle began afar
off and near at hand : the whole forest had
become suddenly alive. Soon in every glade
and by-way resounded the patter and drum-
ming of feet and hoofs, and the swish and
whirr of wings sped over the tree-tops like a
rainy shower. Hoof and paw, on they came
like rivulets running to the sea ; and above,
the darkening feathers gathered like clouds.

236

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

The first to reach the amphitheatre were the
fallow deer. Their shining eyes and dun
coats soon filled up a space about Harolda ;
and after a little jostling and scraping, they
all lay down as close together as they could,
every swart flank heaving like a wave of the
sea. Then came the little ruddy roe-deer,
shyest of creatures, in ones and twos and
threes ; actually bashful in the presence of
each other, they crouched dispersedly on the
outskirts of the amphitheatre. The foxes
slunk in next, and sat about on their
haunches, with their heads innocently
dropped on one side. Hares and rabbits
crowded together ; and polecats, water-
rats and otters arrived in a batch ; the
stoat, the weasel, and the marten wriggled
through the crowd to the very front ; the
badger and the hedgehog elbowed a way in ;
the dormice, and the fieldmice, and the
shrews ran hither and thither ; and the
scaly, yellow-stained snake, the brown viper,
and the burnished slow-worm crawled to
Harolda's feet. While the area of the
amphitheatre filled up in this way, the
clouds of birds took their places in the
galleries, as the surrounding trees may be

237

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

called : falcons, owls, ravens, shrikes, rooks,
jackdaws, crows, magpies, jays, starlings,
ousels, thrushes, blackbirds, sparrows, finches,
nuthatches, woodpeckers, linnets, larks,
wrens, titmice, swallows, doves, plovers,
snipes, curlews, in the tree-tops and on
the high branches and on the low branches,
head to tail, wing to wing, a shining galaxy
of eyes in a firmament of feathers. And
the squirrels were among the birds, and
the partridges and the pheasants among
the beasts.

When every creature had found a place
and perfect silence reigned, Harolda, know-
ing intuitively that the assembly had come
together to see her, and feehng, without
knowing why, that it was her duty to make
a speech, opened her mouth, and was about
to try to begin, ' Dear beasts and birds.'
Remembering, however, that she had lost
the power of utterance, she buried her face
in her hands and burst into tears. A deep
murmur of sympathy broke from the ground
and the trees, which Harolda mistook for an
impatient grumble. She therefore raised her
face, and, by gestures, tried to indicate that
she was dumb. At first her audience were

238

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

puzzled ; but when they understood, a cry
of rage broke out which it is impossible to
imagine or describe. Then all the beasts and
birds talked at once, discussing the position
in the most excited manner. But while the
babel of tongues was at its highest an
antlered form appeared beside Harolda.
The assembly, beholding it, burst into a shout
of joy, which was followed by an attentive
silence. Now, this antlered form was the
doyen of Epping Forest, the only red-deer
surviving there. He was over a hundred
years old, and his existence was denied by
all the keepers, and doubted even by some of
the beasts. But there he was, a late arrival,
come from the most secluded part of his
' native dwelling-place' to advise his brethren
in their need. In his stormy old voice, that
seemed to throb with the tempests of a cen-
tury, he said, ' We are too many to consult
together. Send me a snake, a raven, and a
badger, and we shall determine what is to
be done.'

With but little delay the delegates were
selected, and the four creatures retired behind
a thicket to take counsel with one another.
They were gone only a few minutes, and on

239

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

their return the stag announced their deci-
sion.

'We shall all rise up together and take
her to Fairyland,' he said ; and the decision
was received with acclaim.

The stag knelt down, and Harolda, under-
standing, got upon his back. Then the raven
fastened round his antlers a strong withe
which served as a bridle ; and the brown owl
who had announced Harolda's arrival was
honoured with a perch on the stag's head.
The birds were the first to set out; they
rose like a dense exhalation from the trees,
and flew off in a wide straggling cloud with
shrill cries and clangour. The sound of
their flight was still loud above the forest

hen the stag took the road. He walked

w

"■b

right through the amphitheatre, the animals
opening a lane for him, and then forming
up behind in a mixed but orderly proces-
sion. As for Harolda, it mattered little that
she was unable to speak, because her wonder
and delight were beyond words. Yet she
felt every moment as if she were about to
utter something, and as if momentous things
that she had long forgotten were about to
waken up in her mind.

240

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

They had scarcely gone half a mile — it
seemed so, at least, to Harolda — ^when a great
gray cup, held out in the east, was filled
with the crimson wine of dawn ; and from
the east, too, was seen coming towards them
more swiftly than the wind a black cloud.
Soon they saw that the cloud was the return
of the birds. Having announced in Fairy-
land Harolda's progress, they had put about
again ; and when the birds and beasts met,
the former, separating into two divisions,
hung on the flanks of the march for the
rest of the way.

And as they went along there came to
their ears in snatches an enchanting sound
of music. This, the birds told the beasts,
was fairy music ; for, they said, ' the whole
fairy nation is coming to meet us with drums
and trumpets, cymbals and triangles, and
ancient psalteries and dulcimers, the strings
of which are moonbeams and sunbeams.'
The procession increased its pace at this
great news, and shortly the borderland of
Faery came in sight. Harolda had hardly
done feasting her eyes on the rich green
meadows and bowers that lay before her,
when the fairy outriders appeared over the

241 16

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

crest of a low hill, and at the same time the
sun rose up at once into the sky. After the
outriders came the minstrels in a chariot of
pearl, decorated with ocean gems that are
unknown outside of Fairyland. Then followed
the whole body of the fairy cavalry, clad in
gold and silver mail, and riding on horses
that were either wholly black or wholly white.
A great chariot of ivory, decorated with gold
and all kinds of precious stones, came next ;
it was drawn by six white horses, and in it
there sat three persons. Behind marched
the infantry, with bows and arrows, swords
and bucklers, in flashing helmets and glitter-
ing harness; and behind them, again, in
crowds and companies, on foot and on horse-
back, flocked the fairy nation. The separate
splendours of the divisions of the army, of
the chariots, and of the gaily attired com-
panies, all blended into a rich, soft beauty of
colour and form that entranced the eyes of
every bird and beast.

The earthly creatures came to a halt on
the edge of the world, for although they are
subject to Fairyland, and although the birds
may fly into the air of Faery, nothing earthly
may set foot on its soil ; while on their side

242

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

the fairies halted just on the border of their
territory. Straightway a figure stepped from
the ivory chariot, and came towards the
beasts. This was the fairy, as Harolda
quickly perceived, who had met her first in
the forest in the guise of a woman weeping.
She came up to Harolda accompanied by a
body-guard of archers, and helped her to
descend from the back of the stag. Then
she led her to the ivory chariot, while the
whole fairy nation shouted with joy again
and again, and the minstrels played a trium-
phal march that thrilled the listeners with
delight to the marrow of their bones. In
the chariot sat Irkanda, and the most beauti-
ful youth any bird or beast, or body or fairy,
ever beheld.

The beautiful youth assisted Harolda into
the chariot, and made her sit down beside
him.

Then Irkanda arose, and, resting on her
distaff, spoke in a clear voice that was dis-
tinctly heard by every creature on both sides
of the borderland. She reminded her double
audience how their King and Queen had
been enchanted and spirited away eight years
before ; she told them also, what they had

243

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

long guessed, how she, Irkanda, by her spells
had caused all the conspirators to perish
miserably, and had then applied herself to
the discovery of the condition of their King
and Queen.

* I will not now divulge,' she said, ' nor
shall I ever divulge to any one, the marvel-
lously ingenious and all but inextricably
involved enchantment, or, rather, series of en-
chantments, by which those wicked sorcerers
and evil spirits worked their infamous will.
Were I to reveal the secret, it would endanger
the State. Happily, these subtle devices,
the perfecting of which occupied for ninety-
two years hundreds of the most unscrupulous
and most powerful minds, are never likely
to be reinvented. This only I can tell you :
Your King and Queen, my most gracious
master and mistress, were to be changed
into cheap wooden dolls, in which shape,
after having amused some thoughtless chil-
dren for a year or two, they would have
been inevitably burnt up in a patent stove.
The enchantment succeeded perfectly with
the King, but with the Queen it failed ; by
some extraordinary and beneficent mistake,

244

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

she was changed into a baby instead of into
a doll. Had it not been for this happy error,
I question if I should have succeeded in dis-
enchanting them. Fortunately, it required
only a very simple spell to bring the royal
pair together — the King as the doll of the
Queen. The difficulty lay here : Such was
the diabolical ingenuity of the dead con-
spirators, that a restoration could not be
effected by force. However, my sister, the
fairy Urgala, in the guise of an old woman,
filled the mind of your enchanted Queen with
such an overpowering desire to see Fairyland
that she set out to reach it of her own accord,
bringing the King, her dearly-loved doll, with
her. I should have told you that the con-
spirators completed, as they thought, their
nefarious designs, by enchanting The Book of
the Laws of Faery into a toy picture-book*
That also I brought into the possession of
our Queen, and she, most adorable of en-
chanted princesses — now happily disen-
chanted— carried it with her when she set
out unwittingly to find her kingdom ; and it
is now once more safe in the muniment-room
of the royal palace. We were sadly tempted

245

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

in the forest, my sister and I, to seize upon
the royal pair and carry them straight to
you, for we knew of the dangers that beset
their majesties, but we dared not because of
the enchantment. The great soul of our
Queen helped us through all ; she did what-
ever we bade her, whatever we asked, fear-
lessly and trustfully, and it is to her, to her
alone, that this great and happy restoration
is due ; and after her to the Aroma of Life,
which quickly gave again to the royal pair
their own beautiful and majestic forms.'

With that Irkanda placed crowns of gold
on the heads of the King and Queen ; and the
beautiful, awe-struck, but radiant pair stood
up and bowed graciously to their fairy and
to their earthly subjects, who hailed them
with frantic shouts of * Long live the King
and Queen! Long live the King and
Queen !'

And the King spoke loving words to his
consort; but she, trying in vain to reply,
burst into tears. Whereupon the King kissed
her tenderly and pressed her to his bosom,
and at once Declarabol's spell was broken,
and she murmured, between two joyful sobs:

246

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

' My husband!'

The procession started immediately to re-
turn to the capital of Fairyland, with trium-
phal music and triumphal shouts. But
Irkanda crossed over the borderland to the
beasts, although the Queen begged her to
stay.

' My sister Urgala goes with you,' said
Irkanda, ' and she can communicate with
me, if danger threatens, in the thousandth
part of a second.'

So the Queen kissed Irkanda on both
cheeks ; and she also kissed both her hands
to the beasts and the birds as her chariot
moved away. And all the creatures stood
silently watching the fairies until they passed
out of sight over the crest of the low hill.
Then, with the great enchantress and the
old stag at their head, they went back to
Epping Forest, and all the way Irkanda
spun her golden thread and sang her magic
song:

' The world spins round, and the moon ;
And the sun spins round itself ;
And this is my distafif tune,
As I twirl the shining pelf.
247

THE INTERREGNUM IN FAIRYLAND

' The spider spins in the furze,
And the dew begems his net ;
Fate's unseen spindle whirrs,

And the thread with blood is wet.

* But tears nor blood shall stain,
Nor rust of death or sin,
The thread of golden grain
I spin, I spin.'

THE END.

BILLING AND SONS, I'RINTERS, GUILDFORD.

A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS

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PUBLISHERS : LONDON

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MARCH 1896

March 1896.

Messrs. Methuen^s

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Professor of English Literature at Mason College. Cr. Zvo. 2s, 6d.

This book consists of (i) a succinct but complete biography of Lord Tennyson;
(2) an account of the volumes published by him in chronological order, dealing with
the more important poems separately ; (3) a concise criticism of Tennyson in his
various aspects as lyrist, dramatist, and representative poet of his day ; (4) a
bibliography. Such a complete book on such a subject, and at such a moderate
price, should find a host of readers.

W. A. CRAIGIE

A PRIMER OF BURNS. By W. A. Craigie. Cr.Zvo. 2s.6(f.

This book is planned on a method similar to the ' Primer of Tennyson.' It has also a
glossary. It will be issued in time for the Burns Centenary.

Messrs. Methuen's Announcements

English Classics

THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS. By Samuel
Johnson, LL.D. With an Introduction by John Hepburn
Millar, and a Portrait. 3 vols. Crown 'i>vo^ buckram. \os. 6d.

SHAKESPEARE'S POEMS. Edited by George Wyndham,
M. P. Croivn ^vo. y. 6d.

Theology and Philosophy

E. C. S. GIBSON

THE XXXIX. ARTICLES OF THE CHURCH OF ENG-
LAND, Edited with an Introduction by E. C. S. Gibson, M.A.,
Vicar of Leeds, late Principal of Wells Theological College. In
two volumes. Demy %vo. "js. 6d. each. Vol. I.

This is the first volume of a treatise on the xxxix. Articles, and contains the Intro-
duction and Articles i.-viii.

R, L. OTTLEY
THE DOCTRINE OF THE INCARNATION. By R. L.
Ottley, M.A., late fellow of Magdalen College, Oxon., Principal
of Pusey House. /« two volumes. Demy Svo. i ^s.

This is the first volume of a book intended to be an aid in the study of the doctrine
of the Incarnation. It deals with the leading points in the history of the doctrine,
its content, and its relation to other truths of Christian faith.

L. T. HOBHOUSE

THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE. By L. T. Hobhouse,
Fellow and Tutor of Corpus College, Oxford. Demy Svo. 21s.

'The Theory of Knowledge' deals with some of the fundamental problems of
Metaphysics and Logic, by treating them in connection with one another.
Part i. begins with the elementary conditions of knowledge such as Sensation
and Memory, and passes on to Judgment. Part ii. deals with Inference in
general, and Induction in particular. Part hi. deals with the structural concep-
tions of Knowledge, such as Matter, Substance, and Personality. The main
purpose of the book is constructive, but it is also critical, and various objections
are considered and met.

4 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements

W. H. FAIRBROTHER

THE PHILOSOPHY OF T. H. GREEN. By W. H. Fair-
brother, M.A., Lecturer at Lincoln College, Oxford. Crown Svo.

This volume is expository, not critical, and is intended for senior students at the
Universities, and others, as a statement of Green's teaching and an introduction
to the study of Idealist Philosophy.

F. W, BUSSELL

THE SCHOOL OF PLATO : its Origin and Revival under
the Roman Empire. By F. W, BussELL, M.A., Fellow and Tutor
of Brasenose College, Oxford. Demy Svo. Two 7iolumes. "js. Gd.
each. Vol. I.

In these volumes the author has attempted to reach the central doctrines of Ancient
Philosophy, or the place of man in created things, and his relation to the outer
world of Nature or Society, and to the Divine Being. The first volume com-
prises a survey of the entire period of a thousand years, and examines the
cardinal notions of the Hellenic, Hellenistic, and Roman ages from this particular
point of view.

In succeeding divisions the works of Latin and Greek writers under the Empire
will be more closely studied, and detailed essays will discuss their various systems,
e.g. Cicero, Manilius, Lucretius, Seneca, Aristides, Appuleius, and the Neo-
Platonists of Alexandria and Athens.

History and Biography

EDWARD GIBBON

THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE.
By Edward Gibbon. A New Edition, edited with Notes,
Appendices, and Maps by J. B. Bury, M.A., Fellow of Trinity
College, Dublin. In Seven J^olutnes. Crown Zvo. ()s. each. Vol. I.

The time seems to have arrived for a new edition of Gibbon's great work— furnished
with such notes and appendices as may bring it up to the standard of recent his-
torical research. Edited by a scholar who has made this period his special study,
and issued in a convenient form and at a moderate price, this edition should fill
an obvious void. The volumes will be issued at intervals of a few months.

Messrs. Methuen's Annoucements 5

F. W. JOYCE

THE LIFE OF SIR FREDERICK GORE OUSELEY. By
F. W. Joyce, M.A. With Portraits and Illustrations. Crown Zvo.

This book will be interesting to a large number of readers who care to read the Life
of a man who laboured much for the Church, and especially for the improvement
of ecclesiastical music.

CAPTAIN HINDE

THE FALL OF THE CONGO ARABS. By Sidney L.
HiNDE. With Portraits, Illustrations, and Plans. Deniy Zvo.
I2J-. 6d.

This volume deals with the recent Belgian Expedition to the Upper Congo, which
developed into a war between the "State forces and the Arab slave-raiders in
Central Africa. Two white men only returned alive from the three years' war —
Commandant Dhanis and the writer of this book, Captain Hinde. During the
greater part of the time spent by Captain Hinde in the Congo he was amongst
cannibal races in little-known regions, and, owing to the peculiar circumstances
of his position, was enabled to see a side of native history shown to few Europeans.
The war terminated in the complete defeat of the Arabs, seventy thousand of
whom perished during the struggle.

General Literature

L. WHIBLEY

GREEK OLIGARCHIES: THEIR ORGANISATION AND
CHARACTER. By L. Whibley, M.A., Fellow of Pembroke
College, Cambridge. Crown %vo. ds.

This book is a study of the Oligarchic Constitutions of Greece, treated histori-
cally and from the point of view of political philosophy.

C. H. PEARSON

ESSAYS AND CRITICAL REVIEWS. By C. H. Pearson,
M.A., Author of 'National Life and Character.' Edited, with a
Biographical Sketch, by H. A. Strong, M.A., LL.D. With a
Portrait. Demy %vo. Js. 6d.

This volume contains the best critical work of Professor Pearson, whose remarkable
book on ' National Life and Character' created intense interest.

6 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements

W. CUNNINGHAM
MODERN CIVILISATION IN SOME OF ITS ECONOMIC
ASPECTS. By W. Cunningham, D.D., Fellow of Trinity College,
Cambridge. Crown %vo. 2s. 6d. [Social Questions Series.

A book on economics treated from the standpoint of morality.

F. W. THEOBALD

INSECT LIFE. By F. W. Theobald, M.A. Illustrated.
Crown Svo. 2s. 6d. [ Univ. Extension Series.

Classical Translations

CICERO— De Natura Deorum. Translated by F. Brooks,

M.A. Crown Svo, buckram, y. 6d.

Fiction

THE NOVELS OF MARIE CORELLI

FIRST COMPLETE AND UNIFORM EDITION

Large cro7vn Zvo. 6s.

Messrs. Methuen beg to announce that they will in May commence the
publication of a New and Uniform Edition of Marie Corelli's Romances.
This Edition will be revised by the Author, and will contain new Prefaces.
The volumes will be issued at short intervals in the following order : — •

I. A ROMANCE OF TWO WORLDS. 2. VENDETTA
3. THELMA. 4. ARDATH.

5. THE SOUL OF LILITH. 6. WORMWOOD.

7. BARABBAS. 8. THE SORROWS OF SATAN.

BARING GOULD

THE BROOM-SQUIRE. By S. Baring Gould, Author of
' Mehalah,' 'Noemi,' etc. Illustrated by Frank Dadd. Crown
Svo. 6s.

The scene of this romance is laid on the Surrey hills, and the date is that of the famous
Hindhead murder in 1786.

Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 7

GILBERT PARKER

THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. By Gilbert Parker,
Author of ' When Valmond came to Pontiac,' ' Pierre and his
People,' etc. C7-own Svo. 6s.
A Romance of the Anglo-French War of 1759.

EMILY LAWLESS

HURRISH. By the Honble. Emily Lawless, Author of
' Maelcho,' 'Crania,' etc. Crown %vo. 6s.
A reissue of Miss Lawless' most popular novel, uniform with ' Maelcho.'

MRS. OLIPHANT
THE TWO MARYS. By Mrs. Oliphant. Crotm 8vo. 6s.

MRS. WALFORD

SUCCESSORS TO THE TITLE. By Mrs. Walford,
Author of ' Mr. Smith,' etc. CrowK 8vi?. 6s.

JOHN DAVIDSON

MRS. ARMSTRONG'S AND OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES.
By John Davidson, Author of 'The Ballad of a Nun,' etc.
Crown 8vo. 6s.
A collection of stories by Mr. John Davidson, whose fine verses aie well known.

J. bloundelle burton

IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. By J. Bloundelle
Burton, Author of ' The Desert Ship,' etc. Crown 8z'o. 6s.
A historical romance.

HENRY JOHNSTON

DR. CONGALTON'S LEGACY. By Henry Johnston,

Author of ' Kilmallie,' etc. Crozvn 8vo. 6s.
A story of Scottish life.

J. H. FINDLATER

THE GREEN GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE. By Jane H.

FiNDLATER. CrOWU 8vO. 6s.
A story of Scotland.

8 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements

J. L. PATON
A HOME IN INVERESK. By J. L. Paton. CroumZvo. 6s.

A story of Scotland and British Columbia.

M. A. OWEN

THE DAUGHTER OF ALOUETTE. By Mary A. Owen.

Crown Svo. 6s.
A story of life among the American Indians.

RONALD R0S3

THE SPIRIT OF STORM. By Ronald Ross, Author of
' The Child of Ocean.' Crown Svo. 6s.
A romance of the Sea.

J. A. BARRY

TALES OF THE SEA. By J. A. Barry. Author of 'Steve
Brown's Bunyip.' Crown Sz'o. 6s.

H. A. MORRAH

A SERIOUS COMEDY. By H. A. MoRRAH. Crown 8vo. 6s.

A LIST OF

Messrs. Methuen's

PUBLICATIONS

Poetry

Rudyard Kipling. BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS ; And

Other Verses. By Rudyard Kipling. Ninth Edition. Crown
8vo. 6s,

Mr. Kipling's verse is strong, vivid, full of character. . . . Unmistakable genius
rings in every line.' — Times.

' The disreputable lingo of Cockayne is henceforth ju<;tified before the world ; for a
man of genius has taken it in hand, and has shown, beyond all cavilling, that in
its way it also is a medium for literature. You are grateful, and you say to
yourself, half in envy and half in admiration : " Here is a t'ook ', here, or one is a
Dutchman, is one of the books of the year."' — National Obserr'ey.

'"Barrack-Room Ballads" contains some of the best work that Mr. Kipling has
ever done, which is saying a good deal. " Fuzzy-Wuzzy," " Gunga Din," and
"Tommy," are, in our opinion, altogether superior to anything of the kind that
English literature has hitherto produced.' — Atlunceuiii.

'The ballads teem with imagination, they palpitate with emotion. We read them
with laughter and tears; the metres throb in our pulses, the cunningly ordered
words tingle with life ; and if this be not poetry, what 'mV— Pall Mall Gazette.

Henley. LYRA HEROICA : An Anthology selected from the
best English Verse of the l6th, 17th, i8th, and 19th Centuries. By
William Ernest Henley. Croivn 8vo. Buckram, gilt top. 6.r.

Mr. Henley has brought to the (ask of selection an instinct alike for poetry and for
chivalry which seems to us quite wonderfully, and even unerringly, right.' —
Guardian,

A 2

lo Messrs. Methuen's List

"Q." THE GOLDEN POMP : A Procession of English Lyrics
from Surrey to Shirley, arranged by A. T. Quiller Couch. Crown
Sz'O. Btickra7n. 6s.

'A delightful volume : a really golden "Pomp."' — Spectator.

'Of the many anthologies of "old rhyme" recently made, Mr. Couch's seems the
richest in its materials, and the most artistic in its arrangement. Mr. Couch's
notes are admirable; and Messrs. Methuen are to be congratulated on the format
of the sumptuous volume.' — Realm,

"Q." GREEN BAYS : Verses and Parodies. By " O./' Author

of ' Dead Man's Rock,' etc. Second Edition. Crozvn 8vo. T,s.6d.

'The verses display a rare and versatile gift of parody, great command of metre, and
a very pretty turn of humour.' — Times.

H. C. Beeching. LYRA SACRA : An Anthology of Sacred Verse.

Edited by IL C. Beeching, M.A. Croiun Zvo. Buckram, gill

lop. 6s.
'An anthology of high excellence.' — Atlienaiim.
' A charming selection, which maintains a lofty standard of excellence.' — Times.

Yeats. AN ANTHOLOGY OF IRISH VERSE. Edited by
W. B. Yeats. Croiun Svo. 2^- ^a'.

' An attractive and catholic selection.' — Titnes,

' It is edited by the most original and most accomplished of modern Irish poets, and
against his editing but a single objection can be brought, namely, that it excludes
from the collection his own delicate lyrics.' — Saturday Review.

Mackay. A SONG OF THE SEA : My Lady of Dreams,
AND OTHER POEMS. By Eric Mackay, Author of ' The Love
Letters of a Violinist.' Second Edition. Ecap. Svo, gilt top. ^s.

' Everywhere Mr. Mackay displays himself the master of a style marked by ail the
characteristics of the best rhetoric. He has a keen sense of rhythm and of general
balance ; his verse is excellently sonorous.' — Globe.

' Throughout the book the poetic workmanship is fine.' — Scotsman.

Ibsen. BRAND. A Drama by Henrik Ibsen. Translated by
William Wilson. Second Edition. Crown %vo. 35. 6d.

'The greatest world-poem of the nineteenth century next to "Faust." It is in
the same set with "Agamemnon," with " Lear," with the literature that we now
instinctively regard as high and holy.' — Daily Chronicle.

'A. G.'"' VERSES TO ORDER. By "A. G." Cr.Zvo. 2s.6d.

net.

A mall volume of verse by a writer whose initials are well known to Oxford men.
A capit.il specimen of )i;;ht academic poetry. These verses are very bright and
engaging, easy and sufficiently witty.' — St. James's Gazette.

Eosken. VERSES BY THE WAY. By J. D. Hosken.
Crown Svo. ^s.

Messrs. Metiiuen's List ii

Gale. CRICKET SONGS. By Norman Gale. Crown 8m

Linen. 2s. 6d.

' Simple, manly, and humorous. Every cricketer should buy the book.' — IVesititinsfer

Gazette.
' Cricket has never known such a singer.' — Cricket.

Langbridge. BALLADS OF THE BRAVE : Poems of Chivalry,

Enterprise, Courage, and Constancy, from the Earliest Times to the

Present Day. Edited, with Notes, by Rev. F. Langbridge.

Crown Svo. Buch'am. y. 6d. School Edition. 2s. 6d.

'A very happy conception happily carried out. These "Ballads of the Brave" are
intended to suit the real tastes of boys, and will suit the taste of the great majority.'
— Spectator. ' The book is full of splendid things.' — IVorld.

English Classics

Edited by W. E. Henley.

Messrs. Methuen are publishing, under this title, some of the masterpieces of the
English tongue, which, while well within the reach of the average buyer, shall be
at once an ornament to the shelf of him that owns, and a delight to the eye of
him that reads.

' This new edition of a great classic might make an honourable appearance in any
library in the world. Printed by Constable on laid paper, bound in most artistic
and restful-looking fig-green buckram, with a frontispiece portrait, the book might
well be issued at three times its present price.' — Irish hidefcndcnt.

'Very dainty volumes are these; the paper, type, and light-green binding are all
very agreeable to the eye. Si}nplcx munditiis is the phrase that might be applied
to them.' — Globe.

' The volumes are strongly bound in green buckram, are of a convenient size, and
pleasant to look upon, so that whether on the shelf, or on the table, or in the hand
the possessor is thoroughly content with ihem.'— Guardian.

' The paper, type, and binding of this edition are in excellent taste, and leave
nothing to be desired by lovers of literature.' — Standard.

' Two handsome and finely-printed volumes, light to hold, pleasing to look at, easy
to read.' — National Obserr'er.

THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY.
By Lawrence Sterne. With an Introduction by Charles
Whibley, and a Portrait. 2 vols. "js.

THE COMEDIES OF WILLIAM CONGREVE. With
an Introduction by G. S. Street, and a Portrait. 2 vols. Js.

THE ADVENTURES OF HAJJI BABA OF ISPAHAN
By James Morier. With an Introduction by E. G. Browne, M.A.,
and a Portrait. 2 vols, "js.

12 Messrs. Methuen's List

the lives of donne, wotton, hooker, her-
BERT, AND SANDERSON. By Izaak Walton. With an
Introduction by Vernon Blackburn, and a Portrait. 3J. (>d.

THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS. By Samuel
Johnson, LL.D. With an Introduction by J. H. Millar, and a
Portrait. 3 vols. \os. 6d.

Illustrated Books

Jane Barlow. THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE,

translated by Jane Barlow, Author of ' Irish Idylls,' and pictared
by Y. D. Bedford. Small i,to. ds. net.

S. Baring Gould. A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES retold by S.

Baring Gould. With numerous illustrations and initial letters by

Arthur J. Gaskin. Second Edition. Crown ?,vo. Buckram. 6s.

'Mr. Baring Gould has done a good deed, and is deservnng of gratitude, in re-writing
in honest, simple style the old stories that delighted the childhood of '" our fathers
and grandfathers." We do not think he has omitted any of our favourite stories,
the stories that are commonly regarded as merely ' ' old fashioned." As to the form
of the book, and the printing, which is by Messrs. Constable, it were difficult to
commend overmuch. — Saturday Review.

S. Baring Gould. OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES. Col-
lected and edited by S. Baring Gould. With Numerous Illustra-
tions IjyF. D. Bedford. Second Edition. CrownZvo. Buckram. 6s.

This volume consists of some of the old English stories which have been lost to sight,
and they are fully illustrated by Mr. Bedford.

' Nineteen stories which will probably be new to everybody, who is not an antiquarian
or a bibliographer. A book in which children will revel.' — Daily Telegraph.

' Of the fairy tal^s, first place must be given to the collection of " Old English Fairy
Tales" of Mr. S. Baring Gould, in introducing which the author expresses his
surprise that no collection had before been attempted and adapted to the reading
of children of the old delightful English folk-tales and traditionary stories. He
has gone to the most ancient sources, and presents to young readers in this
volume a series of seventeen, told in his own way, and illustrated by F. D. Bed-
ford. We can conceive of no more charming gift-book for children than this
volume.' — Pttll Mall Gazette.

' The only collection of really old English fairy tales that we have.' — Woman.

' A charming volume, which children will be sure to appreciate. The stories have
been selected with great ingenuity from various old ballads and folk-tales, and,
having been somewhat altered and readju^ted, now stand forth, clothed in Mr.
Baring-Gould's delightful English, to enchant youthful readers. All the talcs
are 2;ood.' — Giiardian.

Messrs. Methuen's List 13

S. Baring Gould. A BOOK OF NURSERY SONGS AND
RHYMES. Edited by S. Baring Gould, and Illustrated by the
Students of the Birmingham Art School, Buckram, gilt top.
Crown Zvo. 6s.

' The volume is very complete in its way, as it contains nursery songs to the number
of 77, game-rhymes, and jingles. To the student we commend the sensible intro-
duction, and the explanatory notes. The volume is superbly printed on soft,
thick paper, which it is a pleasure to touch ; and the borders and pictures are, as
we have said, among the very best specimens we have seen of the Gaskin school.'
— Birmingham Gazette.

' One of the most artistic Christmas books of the season. Every page is surrounded
by a quaint design, and the illustrations are in the same spirit. The collection
itself is admirably done, and provides a prodigious wealth of the rhymes genera-
tions of English people have learned in tender years. A more charming volume
of its kind has not been issued this season.' — Record.

'A perfect treasure.' — B tack and White.

' The collection of nursery rhymes is, since it has been made by Mr. Baring_ Gould,
verj' complete, and among the game-rhymes we have found several quite new
ones. The notes are just what is wanted.' — Boo/cnian.

H. C. Beeching. A BOOK OF CHRISTMAS VERSE. Edited
by H. C. Beeching, M.A., and Illustrated by Walter Crane.
Crown %vo. ^s.

A collection of the best verse inspired by the birth of Christ from the Middle Ages
to the present d.iy. INIr. Walter Crane has designed several illustrations and the
cover. A distinction of the book is the large number of poems it contains by
modern authors, a few of which are here printed for the first time.

'"A Book of Christmas Verse," selected by so good a judge of poetry as Mr.
Beeching, and picturesquely illustrated by Mr. Crane, is likely to prove a popular
Christmas book, more especially as it is printed by Messrs. Constable, with their
usual e-xcellence of typography.' — Athenwiim.

' A very pleasing anthology, well arranged and well edited.' — IHancliestcr Guardian.

' A beautiful anthology.' — Daily Chronicle.

'An anthology which, from its unity of aim and high poetic excellence, has a better
right to exist than most of its ie\\ov{s.'-^Ciiardian.

' As well-chosen and complete a collection as we have seen.' — Spectator,

History

Flinders Petrie. A HISTORY OF EGYPT, from the
Earliest Times to the Present Day. Edited by W. M.
Flinders Petrie, D.C.L., LL.D., Professor of Egyptology at
University College. Fully llhistraied. In Six Vohimes. Cf-own
Zvo. 6 J. each.
Vol. I. Prehistoric to Eighteenth Dynasty. W. M. F.
Petrie. Second Editioti.
' A history written In the spirit of scientific precision so worthily represented by Dr.
Petrie and his school cannot but promote sound and accurate study, and
supply a vacant place in the English literature of Egyptology.'— 7"7W«.

14 Messrs. Methuen's List

FUnders Petrie. EGYPTIAN TALES. Edited by W. M.

Flinders Petrie. Illustrated by Tristram Ellis. In Two

Volumes. Crown 'ivo. 3^. 6^. each.

'A valuable addition to the literature of comparative folk-lore. The drawings are
really illustrations in the literal sense of the v/oid.' —Globe.

' It has a scientific value to the student of history and archjeology.' — Scotsman.

'Invaluable as a picture of life in Palestine and Egypt.' — Daily News.

Flinders Petrie. EGYPTIAN DECORATIVE ART. By

W. M. Flinders Petrie, D.C.L. With 120 Illustrations. Crown

8vo. 3 J. 6(i.

' Professor Flinders Petrie is not only a profound Egyptologist, but an accomplished
student of comparative archaeology. In these lectures, delivered at the Royal
Institution, he displays both qualifications with rare skill in elucidating the
development of decorative art in Egypt, and in tracing its influence on the
art of other countries. Few experts can speak with higher authority and wider
knowledge than the Professor himself, and in any case his treatment of his sub-
ject is full of learning and insight.' — Times.

S. Baring Gould. THE TRAGEDY OF THE C^SARS.

The Emperors of the Julian and Claudian Lines. With numerous
Illustrations from Busts, Gems, Cameos, etc. By S. Baring Gould,
Author of ' Mehalah,' etc. Third Edition. Royal Zvo. \^s.

' A most splendid and fascinating book on a subject of undying interest. The great
feature of the book is the use the author has made of the existing portraits of the
Caesars, and the admirable critical subtlety he has exhibited m dealing with this
line of research. It is brilliantly written, and the illustrations are supplied on a
scale of profuse magnificence.' — Daily Chronicle.

'The volumes will in no sense disappoint the general reader. Indeed, in their way,
there is nothing in any sense so good in English. . . . Mr. Baring Gould has
presented his narrative in such away as not to make one dull page." — Athenieum.

Clark. THE COLLEGES OF OXFORD : Their History and

their Traditions. By Members of the University. Edited by A.

Clark, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Lincoln College. %vo. \2s. 6d.

' A work which will certainly be appealed to for many years as the standard book on
the Colleges of Oxford.' — Athetueum.

Perrens. THE HISTORY OF FLORENCE FROM 1434
TO 1492. By F. T. Perrens. Translated by Hannah Lynch.
Zvo. I2S. 6d.

A history of Florence under the domination of Cosimo, Piero, and Lorenzo de

Medicis.
' This is a standard book by an honest and intelligent historian, who has deserved

well of all who are interested in Italian history.' — Manchester Guardian.

Messrs. Methuen's List 15

E. L. S. Horsburgh. THE CAMPAIGN OF WATERLOO.

By E. L. S. Horsburgh, B.A. Wilh Flans. Crown Zvo. <^s.
A brilliant essay— simple, sound, and thorough.'— /)«//)' Ch7-oniclc.

' A study, the most concise, the most lucid, the most critical that has been produced.'
— BiriiiitighaiH Jlfcrcury,

'A careful and precise study, a fair and impartial criticism, and an eminently read-
able book.' — Admiralty and Horse Guards Gazette.

George. BATTLES OF ENGLISH HISTORY. By H. B.
George, M.A., Fellow of New College, Oxford. With ntimerous
Plans. Second Edition. Crown 8z'0. 6s.

' Mr. George has undertaken a very useful task — that of making military affairs in-
telligible and instructive to non-military readers — and has executed it with laud-
able intelligence and industry, and with a large measure of success.' — Times.

'This book is almost a revelation ; and we heartily congratulate the author on his
work and on the prospect of the reward he has well deserved for so much con-
scientious and sustained labour.' — Daily Chronicle.

Browning. A SHORT HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ITALY
A.D. 1250-1530. By Oscar Browning, Fellow and Tutor of King's
College, Cambridge. Second Edition. In Two Volumes. Crown
8vo, ^s. each.

Vol. I. 1250-1409. — Guelphs and Ghibellines.

Vol. II. 1409-1530. — The Age of the Condottieri.

A vivid picture of mediaeval Italy.' — Standard.

'Mr. Browning is to be congratulated on the production of a work of immense
labour and learning.' — \yestminstcr Gazette.

O'Grady. THE STORY OF IRELAND. By Standish

O'Grady, Author of ' Finn and his Companions.' Cr. Zvo. 2s. 6d.
' Most delightful, most stimulating. Its racy humour, its original imaginings,

make it one of the freshest, breeziest volumes.' — J\Iethodist Times.
A survey at once graphic, acute, and quaintly written.'— y/w/^i-.

Biography

Robert Louis Stevenson. VAILIMA LETTERS. By Robert

Louis Stevenson. With an Etched Portrait by William Strang,
and other Illustrations. Second Edition. Crown 2,vo. Buckra?n.
•js. 6d.

Also 125 copies on hand-made paper. Denty 8vo. 2^s. net.

' The book is, on the one hand, a new revelation of a most lovable personality, and,
on the other, it abounds in passages of the most charming prose — personal, de-
scriptive, humorous, or all three ; exquisite vignettes of Samoan scenery, passages
of joy in recovered health, to be followed — alas, too soon — by depression, physical
and mental ; little revelations of literary secrets, such as of the origin of " l)avid
Balfour," or of the scheme of the books not yet published ; amusing stories about
the household, and altogether a picture of a character and surroundings that have
never before been brought together since Britons took to writing books and
travelling across the seas. The Vailinia Letters are rich in all the varieties of that
charm which have secured for Stevenson the affection of many others besides
"journalists, fellow-novelists, and \>oy%."'—The Times.

' Few publications have in our time been more eagerly awaited than these " Vailima

i6 Messrs. Methuen's List

Letters," giving the first fruits of the correspondence of Robert Louis Stevenson.

But, high as the tide of expectation has run, no reader can possibly be disappointed

in the result.'— 5/. James's Gazette.
' For the student of English literature these letters indeed are a treasure. The>|

are more like " .Scott's Journal " in kind than any other literary autobiography.'

—National Observer.
'One of the most noteworthy and most charming of the volumes of letters that have

appeared in our time or in our language.' — Scotsman.
' Eagerly as we awaited this volume, it has proved a gift exceeding all our hopes— a

gift, I think, almost priceless. It unites in the rarest manner the value of a

familiar correspondence with the value of an intimate journal.'— A. T. Q. C, in

Speaker.

Collingwood. THE LIFE OF JOHN RUSKIN. By W. G.

COLLINGWOOD, M.A., Editor of Mr. Ruskin's Poems. With

numerous Portraits, and 13 Drawings by Mr. Ruskin. Second

Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 32^.
' No more magnificent volumes have been published for a long time. . . .'—Times.
'It is long since we have had a biography with such delights of substance and of

form. Such a book is a pleasure for the day, and a joy for ever.'— Z»rt//y

C/tronic/e.
' A noble monument of a noble subject. One of the most beautiful books about one

of the noblest lives of our cenl\xty.'—G/as^o^u Herald.

Waldstein. JOHN RUSKIN : a Study. By Charles Wald-
STEIN, M.A., Fellow of King's College, Cambridge. With a Photo-
f^ravure Portrait after Professor Herkomer. Post 8z'0. 5^.

o

'A thoughtful, impartial, well-written criticism of Ruskin's teaching, intended to
separate what the author regards as valuable and permanent from what is transient
and erroneous in the great master's writing.'— Z'^/Zy Chronicle.

W. H. Hutton. THE LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. By
W. IL Hutton, M.A., Author of ' William Laud.' JVith Portraits.
Crown Svo. ^s.

' Mr. Wm. Holden Hutton has in a neat volume of less than 300 pages, told
the story of the life of More, and he has placed it in such a well-painted
setting of the times in which he lived, and so accomp.-inied it by brief outlines
of his principal writings, that the book lays good claim to high rank among
our biographies. The work, it may be said, is excellently, even lovingly, written.'
— Scotsman.

' .^n excellent monograph.'— -7"/w«.

' A most complete presentation.' — Daily Chronicle.

Kaufmann. CHARLES KINGSLEY. By M. Kaufmann,
M.A. CrozonSvo. Buckram. 5^.
A biography of Kingsley, especially dealing with his achievements in social reform.
'The author has certainly gone about his work with conscientiousness and industry.'—
Sheffield Daily Telegraph.

Messrs. Methuen's List 17

Bobbins. THE EARLY LIFE OF WILLIAM EWART
GLADSTONE. By A. F. Robbins. Wiih Portraits. Crown
%vo. 6i'.

' Considerable labour and much skill of presentation have not been unworthily
expended on this interesting work.' — Times.

Clark RusselL THE LIFE OF ADMIRAL LORD COL-
LINGWOOD. By W. Clark Russell, Author of ' The Wreck
of the Grosvenor.' With Illustrations by F. Brangwyn. Second
Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

' A most excellent and wholesome book, which we should like to see in the hands of

every hoy in the country.' — St. Ja»iess Gazette.
' A really good book.' — Saturday Review.
• ' A most excellent and wholesome book, which we should like to see in the hands

of every boy in the country.' — St. Javicss Gazette.

Soutliey. ENGLISH SEAMEN (Howard, Clifford, Hawkins,
Drake, Cavendish). By Robert Southey. Edited, with an
Introduction, by David Hannay. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'Admirable and well-told stories of our n.ival history.' — Army and Navy Gazette.

'A brave, inspiriting book.' — Black ajid ll'Jiite.

'The work of a master of style, and delightful all through.' — Daily Chronicle.

General Literature

S. Baring Gould. OLD COUNTRY LIFE. By S. Baring
Gould, Author of ' Mehalah,' etc. With Sixty-seven Illustrations
by W. Parkinson, F. D. Bedford, and F. Masey. La}-ge
Crown 8vo, cloth super extra, top edge gilt, \os. 6d. Fifth and
Cheaper Edition. 6s,
■"'Old Country Life," as healthy wholesome reading, full of breezy life and move-
ment, full of quaint stories vigorously told, will not be excelled by any book to be
published throughout the year. Sound, hearty, and English to thecore.' — World.

S. Baring Gould. HISTORIC ODDITIES AND STRANGE

EVENTS. By S. Baring Gould, Author of ' Mehalah,' etc.
Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.
' A collection of exciting and entertaining chapters. The whole volume is delightful
reading.' — T ivies.

S. Baring Gould. FREAKS OF FANATICISM. By S. Baring

Gould, Author of 'Mehalah,' etc. Third Editioft. CrozvnZvo. 6s.
'Mr. Baring Gould has a keen eye for colour and effect, and the subjects he has
chosen give ample scope to his descriptive and analytic faculties. A perfectly
fascinating book.' — Scottish Leader.

A 3

i8 Messrs. Methuen's List

S. Baring Gould. A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG :

English Folk Songs with their Traditional Melodies. Collected and
arranged by S. Baring Gould and H. Fleetwood Sheppard.
Demy i,to. 6s

S. Baring Gould. SONGS OF THE WEST: Traditional

Ballads and Songs of the West of England, with their Traditional
Melodies. Collected by S. Baring Gould, M.A., and H. Fleet-
wood Sheppard, M. A. Arranged for Voice and Piano. In 4 Parts
(containing 25 Songs each). Parts I., II., III., 35. each. Part
IV., <,s. In one Vol., French morocco, l^s. ,

' A rich collection of humour, pathos, grace, and poetic fancy.' — Saturday Review.

S. Baring Gould. YORKSHIRE ODDITIES AND STRANGE
EVENTS. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

S. Baring Gould. STRANGE SURVIVALS AND SUPER-
STITIONS. With Illustrations. By S. Baring Gould. Crown
8vo. Second Edition. 6s.

' We have read Mr. Baring Gould's book from beginning to end. It is full of quaint
and various information, and there is not a dull page in it.' — Notes and Queries.

S. Baring Gould. THE DESERTS OF SOUTHERN
FRANCE. By S. Baring. Gould, With numerous Illustrations
by F. D. Bedford, S. Hutton, etc. 2 vols. Demy 8vo. 325.

This book is the first serious attempt to describe the great barren tableland that
extends to the south of Limousin in the Department of Aveyron, Lot, etc., a
country of dolomite cliffs, and canons, and subterranean rivers. The region is
full of prehistoric and historic interest, relics of cave-dwellers, of mediasval
robbers, and of the English domination and the Hundred Years' War.

'His two richly-illustrated volumes are full of matter of interest to the geologist,
the archsologist, and the student of history and manners.' — Scotsman.

' It deals with its subject in a manner which rarely falls to arrest attention.' — Times.

W. E. Gladstone. THE SPEECHES AND PUBLIC AD-
DRESSES OF THE RT. HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P.
Edited by A. W. Hutton, M.A., and H. J. Cohen, M.A. With
Portraits. 8vo. Vols. IX. and X. 12s. 6d. each.

Henley and Whibley. A BOOK OF ENGLISH PROSE.
Collected by W. E. Henley and Charles Whibley. Cr. 8vo. 6s.

'A unique volume of extracts — an art gallery of early prose." — Birmin^//afii Post.

' An admirable companion to Mr. Henley's " Lyra Heroica." ' — Saturday Keviezu.

' Quite delightful. The choice made has been excellent, and the volume has been
most admirably printed by Messrs. Constable. A greater treat for those not well
acquainted with pre-Restoration prose could not be imagined.' — Athetueum.

Messrs. Methuen's List 19

Wells. OXFORD AND OXFORD LIFE. By Members of
the University. Edited by J. Wells, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of
Wadham College. Crown B>z'o. 3^. 6d.

This work contains an account of life at Oxford — intellectual, social, and religious —
a careful estimate of necessary expenses, a review of recent changes, a statement
of the present position of the University, and chapters on Women's Education,
aids to study, and University Extension.

' We congratulate Mr. Wells on the production of a readable and intelligent account
of Oxtbrd as it is at the present time, written by persons who are possessed of a
close acquaintance with the system and life of the University.' — Ai/ienieu»i.

W. B. Worsfold. SOUTH AFRICA : Its History and its Future.

By W. Basil Worsfold, M.A. IFzi/i a Map. Crown %vo. (>s.

'An intensely interesting book.' — Daily Chronicle.

' A monumental work compressed into a very moderate compass. The early history
of the colony, its agricultural resources, literature, and gold and diamond mines
are all clearly described, besides the main features of recent Kaffir and Boer
campaigns ; nor (to bring his record quite up to date) does the author fail to devote
a chapter to Mr. Cecil Rhodes, the Chartered Company, and the Boer Conven-
tion of 1884. Additional information from sources not usually accessible is to be
found in the notes at the end of the book, as well as a historical summary, a
statistical appendix, and other matters of special interest at the present moment.'
—World.

Ouida. VIEWS AND OPINIONS. By Ouida. Crown 8m

Second Edition. 6i'.

' Ouida is outspoken, and the reader of this book will not have a dull moment. The
book is full of variety, and sparkles with entertaining matter.' — Speaker.

J. S. Shedlock. THE PIANOFORTE SONATA : Its Origin
and Development. By J. S. Shedlock. Croivft 8vo. ^s.

' This work should be in the possession of every musician and amateur, for it not
only embodies a concise and lucid history ot the origin of one of the most im-
portant forms of musical composition, but, by reason of the painstaking research
and accuracy of the author's statements, it is a very valuable work for reference.'
— A thenceuin.

Bowden. THE EXAMPLE OF BUDDHA: Being Quota-
tions from Buddhist Literature for each Day in the Year. Compiled
by E. RL Bowden. With Preface by Sir Edwin Arnold. Third
Edition. 161110, 2s. 6d.

BushiU. PROFIT SHARING AND THE LABOUR QUES-
TION. By T. W. BusHiLL, a Profit Sharing Employer. Crown
Sz'O. 2S. 6d.

Jolin Beever. PRACTICAL FLY-FISHING, Founded on
Nature, by John Beever, late of the Thwaite House, Coniston. A
New Edition, with a Memoir of the Author by W. G. COLLINGWOOD,
M.A. Crozvn Svo. 35. 6d.
A little book on Fly-Fishing by an old friend of Mr. Ruskin.

20 Messrs. Methuen's List

Science

Freudenreich. DAIRY BACTERIOLOGY. A Short Manual

for the Use of Students. By Dr. Ed. von Freudenreich.
Translated from the German by J. R. AiNSWORTH DAVIS, B.A.,
E.G. P. Cro'vn'ivo. 2s. 6d.

Chalmers Mitchell. OUTLINES OF BIOLOGY. By P.

Chalmers Mitchell, M.A., F.Z.S. Fully Illustrated. Crown

8vo. 6s.

A text-book designed to cover the new Schedule issued by the Roj'al College of
Physicians and Surgeons.

Massee. A MONOGRAPH OF THE MYXOGASTRES. By

George Masses. With 12 Coloured Plates. Royal 8vo. iSs.net.
'A work much in advance of any book in the language treating of this group of
organisms. It is indispensable to every student of the Myxogastres. The
coloured plates deserve high praise for their accuracy and execution." — Nature.

Theology and Philosophy

Driver. SERMONS ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH
THE OLD TESTAMENT. By S. R. Driver, D.D., Canon of
Christ Church, Regius Professor of Hebrew in the University of
Oxford. Crown Zvo. ds.

A welcome companion to the author's famous ' Introduction.' No man can read these
discourses without feeling that Dr. Driver is fully alive to the deeper teaching of
the Old Testament.' — Cua>\Uan.

Cheyne. FOUNDERS OF OLD TESTAMENT CRITICISM :

Biographical, Descriptive, and Critical Studies. By T. K. Cheyne,
D.D., Oriel Professor of the Interpretation of Holy Scripture at
Oxford. Large crown %vo. 'js. 6d.
This important book is a historical sketch of O. T. Criticism in the form of biographi-
cal studies from the days of Eichhotn to those of Driver and Robertson Smith.
It is the only book of its kind in English.
A very learned and instructive work.' — Times.

Prior. CAMBRIDGE SERMONS. Edited by C. H. Prior,
M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Pembroke College. Crown Svo. 6s.
A volume of sermons preached before the University of Cambridge by various

preachers, inclu.ling the Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop Westcott.
' A representative collection. Bishop Westcott's is a noble sermon.' — Guardiau.

Beeching. SERMONS TO SCHOOLBOYS. By H. C.
Beeching, M. a. , Rector of Yattendon, Berks. With a Preface by
Canon ScoTT Holland. C7-own Svo. 2s. 6d.
Seven sermons preached before the boys of Bradfield College.

Messrs. Methuen's List 21

Layard. RELIGION IN BOYHOOD. Notes on the Reli-
gious Training of Boys. With a Preface by J. R. Illingworth.
By E. B. Layard, M.A. i8mo. is.

C. J. Shebbeare. THE GREEK THEORY OF THE STATE
AND THE NONCONFORMIST CONSCIENCE: a Socialistic
Defence of some Ancient Institutions. By Charles John She)5-
BEARE, B.A., Christ Church, Oxford. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.

F. S. Granger. THE WORSHIP OF THE ROMANS. By
F. S. Granger, M.A., Lilt.D., Professor of Philosophy at Univer-
sity College, Nottingham. Crown 87.10. 6s.

The author has attempted to delineate that group of beliefs which stood in close con-
nection with the Roman religion, and among the subjects treated are Dreams,
Nature Worship, Roman Magic, Divination, Holy Places, Victims, etc. Thus
the book is, apart from its immediate subject, a contribution to folk-lore and com-
parative psychology.

' A scholarly analysis of the religious ceremonies,beliefs, and superstitions of ancient
Rome, conducted in the new instructive light of comparative anthropology.' —
Tii/ies.

' This is an analytical and critical work which will assist the student of Romish
history to understand the factors which went to build up the remarkable charac-
teristics of the old Romans especially in matters appertaining to religion.' —
Oxford Review.

2Deliotional Booh0.

With Full-page Illustrations. Fcap. 8vo. Buckram. 3^-. dd.
Padded morocco, ^s.

THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. By Thomas a Kempis.
With an Introduction by Dean Farrar. Illustrated by C. M.
Gere, and printed in black and red.

'Amongst all the innumerable English editions of the " Imitation," there can have
been few which were prettier than this one, printed in strong and handsome type
by Messrs. Constable, with all the glory of red initials, and the comfort of buckram
binding.' — Glasgow Herald.

THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. By John Keble. With an Intro-
duction and Notes by W. Lock, M.A., Sub- Warden of Keble College,
Ireland Professor at Oxford, Author of the 'Life of John Keble.'
Illustrated by R. Anning Bell.

' The present edition is annotated with all the care and insight to be expected from
Mr. Lock. The progress and circumstances of its composition are detailed in the
Introduction. There is in an interesting Appendix on the MSB. of t'ne "Christian
Year," and another giving the order in which the poems were written. A " Short
Analysis of the Thought" is prefixed to each, and any difficulty in the text is ex-
plained in a note. When we add to all this that the book is printed in clear,
black type on excellent paper, and bound in dull red buckram, we shall have said
enough to vindicate its claim to a place among the prettiest gift-books of the
season. ' — Guardian.

' The most acceptable edition of this ever popular work with which we are ac-
qainted.' — Globe.

' An edition which should be recognised as the best extant. . . . The edition is one
which John Henry Newman and the late Dean Church would have handled with
meet and affectionate remembrance.' — Birminsitam Post.

3/6

22 Messrs. Methuen's List

Leaders of Religion

Edited by H. C. BEECHING, M.A. With Portraits, crowtt 8vo.

A series of short biographies of the most prominent leaders
of religious life and thought of all ages and countries.

The following are ready —

CARDINAL NEWMAN. By R. H. HUTTON.

JOHN WESLEY. By J. H. Overton, M.A.

BISHOP WILBERFORCE. By G. W. Daniel, M.A.

CARDINAL MANNING. By A. W. Hutton, M.A.

CHARLES SIMEON. By H. C. G. Moule, M.A.

JOHN KEBLE. By Walter Lock, M.A.

THOMAS CHALMERS. By Mrs. Oliphant.

LANCELOT ANDREWES. By R. L. Ottley, M.A.

AUGUSTINE OF CANTERBURY. By E. L. CUTTS. D.D.

WILLIAM LAUD. By W. H. Hutton, M.A.

JOHN KNOX. By F. M'Cunn.

JOHN HOWE. By R. F. Horton, D.D.

Other volumes will be announced in due course.

Fiction

SIX SHILLING NOVELS

Marie Corelli. BARABBAS : A DREAM OF THE WORLD'S

TRAGEDY. By Marie Corelli, Author of ' A Romance of Two

Worlds,' 'Vendetta,' etc. Tiventy-Jirst Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

' The tender reverence of the treatment and the imaginative beauty of the writing
have reconciled us to the daring of the conception, and the conviction is forced on
us that even so exalted a subject cannol. be made too familiar to us, provided it be
presented in the true spirit of Christian faith. _ The amplifications of the Scripture
narrative are often conceived with high poetic insight, and this "Dream of the
World's Tragedy " is, despite some trifling incongruities, a lofty and not inade-
quate paraphrase of the supreme climax of the inspired narrative.' — Dublin
Revicio.

Marie Corelli. THE SORROWS OF SATAN. By Marie

Corelli. Crown Svo. Seventeenth Edition. 6s.

' There is in Marie Corelli's work a spark of the Divine. Her genius is neither common
nor unclean. She has a far-reaching and gorgeous imagination ; slie feels the
beautifulintensely, and desires it. _ She believes in God and in good ; she hopes
for the kindest and the best ; she is dowered with " the scorn of scorn, the hate
of hate, the love of love." 'There is to be discerned in her work that sense of the

Messrs. Methuen's List 23

unseen which is the glad but solemn prerogative of the pure in heart. Again,
she is a keen observer, a powerful, fearless, caustic satirist ; she makes an effec-
tive protest, and enforces a grave warning against the follies and shams and vices
of the age.' — Report of a sermon delivered on ' The Sorrows of Satan,' by the
Rev. A. R. Harrison, Vicar, in Tettenhall Church, Wolverhampton, on Sunday,
November 12. — Midland Evening News.

' A very powerful piece of work. . . . The conception is magnificent, and is likely
to win an abiding place within the memory of man. . . . The author has immense
command of language, and a limitless audacity. . . . This interesting and re-
niarkable romance will live long after much of the ephemeral literature of the day
is forgotten. ... A literary phenomenon . . . novel, and even sublime.' — W. T.
Stead in the Review c/Reviezus.

Anthony Hope. THE GOD IN THE CAR. By Anthony
Hope, Author of ' A Change of Air, ' etc. Seventh Edition. Crown
Svo. 6s.

' A very remarkable book, deserving of critical analysis impossible within our limit ;
brilliant, but not superficial ; well considered, but not elaborated ; constructed
with the proverl)ial art that conceals, but yet allows itself to be enjoyed by readers
to_ whom fine literary method is a keen pleasure ; true without cynicism, subtle
without affectation, humorous without strain, witty without offence, inevitably
sad, with an unmorose simplicity.'— T/ie lyortd.

Anthony Hope. A CHANGE OF AIR. By Anthony Hope,

Author of ' The Prisoner of Zenda,' etc. Third Edition. Crown

Svo. 6s.

'A graceful, vivacious comedy, true to human nature. The characters are traced
with a masterly hand.' — Times.

Anthony Hope. A MAN OF MARK. By Anthony Hope,
Author of 'The Prisoner of Zenda,' 'The God in the Car,' etc.
Third Edition. Crown Svo. 6s.

* Of all Mr. Hope's books, " A Man of Mark " is the one which best compares with
" The Prisoner of Zenda." The two romances are unmistakably the work of the
same writer, and he possesses a style of narrative peculiarly seductive, piquant,
comprehensive, and — his own.' — Afaiionat Observer.

Anthony Hope. THE CHRONICLES OFCOUNT ANTONIO.

By Anthony Hope, Author of ' The Prisoner of Zenda,' ' The God

in the Car,' etc. Third Edition. Crown Svo. 6s.

'It is a perfectly enchanting story of love and chivalry, and pure romance. The
outlawed Count is the most constant, desperate, and withal modest and tender of
lovers, a peerless gentleman, an intrepid fighter, a vei-y faithful friend, and a most
magnanimous foe. In short, he is an altogether admirable, lovable, and delight-
ful hero. There is not a word in the volume that can give offence to the most
fastidious taste of man or woman, and there is not, either, a dull paragraph in it.
The book is everywhere instinct with the most exhilarating spirit of adventure,
and delicately perfumed with the sentiment of all heroic and honourable deeds of
history and romance.' — Guaj-dian.

24 Messrs. Methuen's List

Conan Doyle. ROUND THE RED LAMP. By A. Conan
Doyle, Author of ' The White Company,' ' The Ad%'enture3 of
Sherlock Holmes,' etc. Fourth Edition. Croivn %vo. ds,

' The book is, indeed, composed of leaves from life, and is far and away the best view
that has been vouch'^afed us behind the scenes of the consulting-room. It is very
superior to ' ' The Diary of a late Physician. " ' — Illustrated London News.

Stanley Weyman. UNDER THE RED ROBE. By Stanley
Weyman, Author of ' A Gentleman of France.' With Twelve Illus-
trations by R. Caton Woodville. Eighth Editio/t. Crown 8vo. 6s.

'A book of which we have read every word for the sheer pleasure of reading, and

which we put down with a pang that we cannot forget it all and start again." —

IVestminster Gazette.
' Every one who reads books at all must read this thrilling romance, from the first

page of which to the last the breathless reader is haled along. An inspiration of

'manliness and coiir.nge.' — Daily Chronicle.
'A delightful tale of chivalry and adventure, vivid and dramatic, with a wholesome

modesty and reverence for the highest.' — Globe.

Mrs. Clifford. A FLASH OF SUMMER. By Mrs, W. K.

Clifford, Author of ' Aunt Anne,' etc. Second Edition. Crown
8vo. 6s.

' The story is a very sad and a very beautiful one, exquisitely told, and enriched with
many subtle touches of wise and tender insight. Mrs. Clifford's gentle heroine is
a most lovable creature, contrasting very refreshingly with the heroine of latter-
day fiction. The minor characters are vividly realised. "A Flash of Summer"
is altogether an admirable piece of work, wrought with strength and simplicity.
It will, undoubtedly, add to its author's reputation — already high — in the ranks
ol novelists.'— S/>ea/:er.

' We must congratulate Mr';. Clifford upon a very successful and interesting story,
told throughout with finish and a delicate sense of proportion, qualities which,
indeed, have always distinguished the best work of this very able writer.' —
MattcAestcr Guardian.

Emily Lawless. MAELCHO : a Sixteenth Century Romance.
By the Hon. Emily Lawless, Author of 'Crania,' ' Hurrish,' etc.
Second Edition. Crown %vo. 6s.

' A really great book.' — Spectator.

'There is no keener pleasure in life than the recognition of genius. Good work is
commoner than it used to be, but the best is as rare as ever. All the mor6
gladly, therefore, do we welcome in " Maelcho " a piece of work of the first order,
which we Ao not hesitate to describe as one of the most remarkable literary
achievements of this generation. Miss Lawless is possessed of the very essence
of historical genius.' — Manchester Guardian.

E- F. Benson. DODO : A DETAIL OF THE DAY. By E. F.

Benson. Sixteenth Edition. Crown Sz'o. 6s.

' A delightfully witty sketch of society.' — Spectator.
' A perpetual feast of epigram and paradox.' — Speaker.
' By a writer of quite exceptional iibility.' — Athenaum.
' Brilliantly written.' — World.

Messrs. Methuen's List 25

E. F. Benson. THE RUBICON. By E. F. Benson, Author of
' Dodo.' Fifth Editioti. Crown ^vo. 6s.

' Well written, stimulating, unconventional, and, in a word, characteristic' —

Birmiiigliam Post.
' An exceptional achievement ; a notable advance on his previous work." — National

Observer.

M. M. Dowie. GALLIA. By Minnie Muriel Dowie, Author
of ' A Girl in the Carpathians. ' Third Edition. Crowti 8vo. 6s.

' The style is generally admirable, the dialogue not seldom brilliant, the situations
surprising in their freshness and originality, while the subsidiary as well as the
principal characters live and move, and the story itself is readable from title-page
to colophon.' — Saturday Review.

' A very notable book; a very sympathetically, at times delightfully written book.
— Daily Graphic.

MR. BARING GOULD'S NOVELS

'To say that a book is by the author of " Mehalah" is to imply that it contains a
story cast on strong lines, containing dramatic possibilities, vivid and sympathetic
descriptions of Nature, and a wealth of ingenious imagery.' — Speaker.
'That whatever Mr. Baring Gould writes is well worth reading, is a conclusion that
may be very generally accepted. His views of life are fresh and vigorous, his
language pointed and characteristic, the incidents of which he makes use are
striking and original, his characters are life-like, and though somewhat excep-
tional people, are drawn and coloured with artistic force. Add to this that his
descriptions of scenes and scenery are painted with the loving eyes and skilled
hands of a master of his art, that he is always fresh and never dull, and under
such conditions it is no wonder that readers have gained confidence both in his
power of amusing and satisfying them, and that year by year his popularity
widens.' — Court Circular.

Baring Gould. URITH : A Story of Dartmoor. By S. Baring

Gould. Third Edition. Crown Zvo. 6s.
' The author is at his best.' — Times.
' He has nearly reached the high water-mark of " Mehalah." ' — National Observer.

Baring Gould. IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA: A Tale of
the Cornish Coast. By S. Baring Gould. Fifth Edition. 6s.

'One of the best imagined and most enthralling stories the author has produced.'
— Saturday Review.

Baring Gould. MRS. CURGENVEN OF CURGENVEN.
By S. Baring Gould. Fotirth Edition. 6s.

' A novel of vigorous humour and sustained power.' — Graphic.
' The swing of the narrative is splendid.' — Susse.x Daily News.

Baring Gould. CHEAP JACK ZITA. By S. Baring Gould.
Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

' A powerful drama of human passion.' — Westminster Gazette.
'A story worthy the author.' — National ObseTver.

26 Messrs. Methuen's List

S. Baring Gould. THE QUEEN OF LOVE. By S. Baring
Gould. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

The scenery is admirable, and the dramatic incidents are most striking.' — Glasgow
Herald.

Strong, interesting, and clever.' — Wesiminsler Gazette.
' You cannot put it down until you have finished it.' — Punch.
' Can be heartily recommended to all who care for cleanlj', energetic, and interesting

^fiction.' — Sussex Daily News.

S. Baring Gould. KITTY ALONE. By S. Baring Gould,

Author of 'Mehalah,' 'Cheap Jack Zita,' etc. Fourth Edition.

Croivn Zvo. bs.

' A strong and original story, teeming with graphic description, stirring incident,

and, above all, with vivid and enthralling human interest.'— Dai ly Telegraph.
' Brisk, clever, keen, healthy, humorous, and interesting.' — National Observer.
' Full of quaint and delightful studies of character.' — Bristol Mercury.

S. Baring Gould. NOI^LMI : A Romance of the Cave-Dwellers.
By S. Baring Gould. Illustrated by R. Caton Woodville.
Third Edition. Croivn Svo. 6s.

' " No(?mi " is as excellent a tale of fighting and adventure as one may wish to meet.

All the characters that interfere in this exciting tale are marked with properties

of their own. The narrative also runs clear and sharp as the Loire itself.' —

fall Mall Gazette.
'Mr. Baring Gould's powerful story is full of the strong lights and shadows and

vivid colouring to which he has accustomed us.'- — Standard.

Mrs. Oliphant. SIR ROBERT'S FORTUNE. By Mrs.

Oliphant. Crown Zvo. 6s.

' Full of her own peculiar charm of style and simple, subtle character-painting comes
her new gift, the delightful story before us. The scene mostly lies in the moors,
and at the touch of the authoress a Scotch moor becomes a living thing, strong,
tender, beautiful, and changeful. The book will take rank among the best of
Mrs. Oliphant's good stories.' — Pall Mall Gazette.

W. E. Norris. MATTHEW AUSTIN. By W. E. Norris, Author
of ' Mademoiselle de Mersac,' etc. Fourth Edition. Crown %vo. 6s.

' "Matthew Austin " may safely be pronounced one of the most intellectually satis-
factory and morally bracing novels of the current year.' — Daily Telegraph.

W. E. Norris. HIS GRACE. By W. E. Norris, Author of
' Mademoiselle de Mersac' Third Edition. Crown Svo. 6s.

Mr. Norris has drawn a really fine character in the Duke of Hurstbourne, at once
unconventional and very true to the conventionalities of life, weak and strong in
a breath, capable of inane follies and heroic decisions, yet not so definitely por-
trayed as to relieve a reader of the necessity of study on his own behalf.' —
A thenceuni.

Messrs. Methuen's List 27

W. E, Norris. THE DESPOTIC LADY AND OTHERS.

By W. E. Norris, Author of 'Mademoiselle de Mersac' Crown

?>vo. 6s.

' A budget of good fiction of which no one will tire.' — Scotsman.
' An extremely entertaining volume — the sprightliest of holiday companions.' —
Daily Telegraph.

Gilbert Parker. PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE. By Gilbert

Parker. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.

' Stories happily conceived and finely executed. There is strength and genius in Mr.
Parker's style.' — Daily Telegraph.

Gilbert Parker. MRS. FALCHION. By Gilbert Parker,

Author of ' Pierre and His People.' Second Edition. CrownZvo. 6s.

' A splendid study of character.' — Athencrujii.

' But little behind anything that has been done by any writer of our time. ' — Pall

Mall Gazette.
'A very striking and admirable novel.' — St. James's Gazette.

Gilbert Parker. THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. By
Gilbert Parker. Croivn %vo. 6s.

' The plot is original and one difficult to work out ; but Mr. Parker has done it with
great skill and delicacy. The reader who is not interested in this original, fresh,
and well-told tale must be a dull person indeed.' — Daily Chronicle.

'A strong and successful piece of workmanship. The portrait of Lali, strong,
dignified, and pure, is e.xceptionally well drawn.' — Manchester Guardian.

Gilbert Parker. THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. By Gilbert
1'arker. Third Edition. Crown '6vo. 6s.

'Everybody with a soul for romance will thoroughly enjoy "The Trail of the
Sword." ' — St. James's Gazette.

' A rousing and dramatic tale. A book like this, in which swords flash, great sur-
prises are undertaken, and daring deeds done, in which men and women live and
love in the old straightforward passionate way, is a joy inexpressible to the re-
viewer, brain-weary of the domestic tragedies and psychological puzzles of every-
day fiction ; and we cannot but believe that to the reader it will bring refreshment
as welcome and as keen.' — Daily Chronicle.

Gilbert Parker. WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC :
The Story of a Lo.t Napoleon. By Gilbert Parker. Third
Edition. C7-own 'i>vo. 6s.

' Here we find romance — real, breathing, living romance, but it runs flush with our
own times, level with our own feelings. Not here can we complain of lack of
inevitableness or homogeneity. The character of Valmond is drawn unerringly ;
his career, brief as it is, is placed before us as convincingly as history itself, 'i he
book must be read, we may say re-read, for any one thoroughly to appreciate
Mr. Parker's delicate touch and innate sympathy with humanity.' — Pall Mall
Gazette.

'The one work of genius which 1895 has a.s yet produced.' — New Age.

28 Messrs. Methuen's List

Gilbert Parker. AN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH:
The Last Adventures of ' Pretty Pierre.' By Gilbert Parker.
Crown Zvo. 6s.

' The present book is full of fine and moving stories of the great North, and it will
add to Mr. Parker's already high reputation.' — Glas^ou> Herald.

' The new book is very romantic and very entertaining — full of that peculiarly
elegant spirit of adventure which is so characteristic of Mr. Parker, and of that
poetic thrill which has given him warmer, if less numerous, admirers than even
his romantic story-telling gift has done.' — Sketch.

H. G. Wells. THE STOLEN BACILLUS, and other Stories.

By H. G. Wells, Author of 'The Time Machine.' Crozvn

8vo. 6s.

' The ordinary reader of fiction may be glad to know that these stories are eminently
readable from one cover to the other, but they are more than that ; they are the
impressions of a very striking imagination, which it would seem, has a great deal
within its reach.' — Satxcrday Reviexv.

Arthur Morrison. TALES OF MEAN STREETS. By Arthur
Morrison. Third Edition. Crown "ivo. 6s.

' Told with consummate art and extraordinary detail. He tells a plain, unvarnished
tale, and the very truth of it makes for beauty. In the true humanity of the book
lies its justification, the permanence of its interest, and its indubitable triumph.' —
A thenieunt.

' A great book. The author's method is amazingly effective, and produces a thrilling
sense of reality. The writer lays upon us a master hand. The book is simply
appalling and irresistible in its interest. It is humorous also ; without humour
it would not make the mark it is certain to make.' — World.

J. Maclaren Cobban. THE KING OF ANDAMAN : A

Saviour of Society. By J. Maclaren Cobban, Author of 'The

Red Sultan,' etc. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6s.

' An unquestionably interesting book. It would not surprise us if it turns out to be
the most interesting novel of the season, for it contains one character, at least,
who has in him the root of immortality, and the book itself is ever exhaling the
sweet savour of the unexpected. . . . Plot is forgotten and incident fades, and
only the really human endures, and throughout this book there stands out in bold
and beautiful relief its high-souled and chivalric protagonist, James the Master
of Hutcheon, the King of Andaman himself.' — Pall Mall Gazette.
A most original and refreshing story. The supreme charm of the book lies in the
genial humour with which the central character is conceived. James Hutcheon
is a personage whom it is good to know and impossible to forget. He is beautiful
within and without, whichever way we take him.' — Spectator.
' " The King of Andaman " has transcended our rosiest expectations. If only for
the brilliant portraits of 'the Maister,' and his false friend Fergus O'Rhea, the
book deserves to be read and remembered. The sketches of the Chartist move-
ment are wonderfully vivid and engrossing, while the whole episode of James
Hutcheon's fantastic yet noble scheme is handled with wonderful spirit and
sympathy. "The King of Andaman," in short, is a book which does credit not
less to the heart than the head of its author.' — Athe7iceu7n.
' The fact that Her Majesty the Queen has been pleased to gracefully express to the
author of " The King of Andaman " her interest in his work will doubtiess find
for it many readers.' — \'anity Fair.

Messrs. Methuen's List 29

Julian Corbett. A BUSINESS IN GREAT WATERS. By
Julian Cokbett, Author of ' For God and Gold,' ' Kophelua
XIIIth.,'etc. Crown ?,io. 6s.

' In this stirring story Mr. Julian Corbett has done excellent work, welcome alike
for its distinctly literary flavour, and for the wholesome tone which pervades it.
Mr. Corbett writes with immense spirit, and the book is a thoroughly enjoyable
one in all respects. The salt of the ocean is in it, and the right heroic ring re-
sounds through its gallant adventures, in which pirates, smugglers, sailors, and
refugees are mingled in picturesque confusion, with the din of battle and the soft
strains of love harmoniously clashing an accompaniment. We trust that Mr.
Corbett will soon give us another taste of his qualities in a novel as exciting, as
dramatic, and as robustly human, as " A Business in Great Waters." ' — Speaker.

C. Phillips Woolley. THE QUEENSBERRY CUP. A Tale
of Adventure. By Clive Phillips Woolley, Author of ' Snap,'
Editor of * Big Game Shooting.' Illustrated. Crowii 8vo. 6s.

This is a story of amateur pugilism and chivalrous adventure, written by an author
whose books on sport are well known.

' A book which will delight boys: a book which upholds the healthy schoolboy code
of morality.' — Scoisinan.

' A brilliant book. Dick St. Clair, of Caithness, is an almost ideal character — a com-
bination of the mediccval knight and the modern pugilist.' — Admiralty and Horse-
guards Gazette,

' If all heroes of boy's books were as truly heroic as Dick St. Clair, the wiimer of the
Queensberry Cup, we should have nothing to complain of in literature specially
written for boys.' — Educational Review.

Robert Barr. IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. By Robert
Barr, Author of 'From Whose Bourne,' etc. Third Edition.
Crown 8z'0. 6s.

' A book which has abundantly satisfied us by its capital humouT.'— Baity Clironicle.

' Mr. Barr has achieved a triumph whereof he has every reason to be proud.' — /'a/t
Malt Gazette.

L. Daintrey. THE KING OF ALBERIA. A Romance of
the Balkans. By Laura Daintrey. Crown 8vo. 6s.

' Miss Daintrey seems to have an intimate acquaintance with the_ people and politics
of the Balkan countries in which the scene of her lively and picturesque romance
is laid. On almost every page we find clever touches of local colour which dif-
ferentiate her book unmistakably from the ordinary novel of commerce. The
story is briskly told, and well conceived.' — Glasgow Herald.

Mrs. Pinsent. CHILDREN OF THIS WORLD. By Ellen
F. Pinsent, Author of 'Jenny's Case.' Crown Zvo. 6s.

' Mrs. Pinsent's new novel has plenty of vigour, variety, and good writing. There
are certainty of purpose, strength of touch, and clearness of vision.' — Athenixuin.

Clark Russell. MY DANISH SWEETHEART. By W.
Clark Russell, Author of ' The Wreck of the Grosvcnur,' etc.
Illustrated. Third Edition. Cro-vn 8vo. 6s.

30 Messrs. Methuen's List

G. Manville Fenn. AN ELECTRIC SPARK. By G. Manville
Fenn, Author of * The Vicar's Wife,' ' A Double Knot,' etc. Second
Edition. Crown %vo, ds.
'A simple and wholesome story.' — Manchester Guardian.

Pryce. TIME AND THE WOMAN. By Richard Pryce,

Author of ' Miss Maxwell's Affections,' 'The Quiet Mrs. Fleming,'
etc. Second Edition. Crown Zvo. ds.
' Mr. Pryce's work recalls the style of Octave Feuillet, by its clearness, conciseness,
its literary reserve.' — AthcncB-um.

Mrs. Watson. THIS MAN'S DOMINION. By the Author
of ' A High Little World.' Second Edition. Crown Sz'O. 6s.

Marriott Watson. DIOGENES OF LONDON and other
Sketches. By H. B. Marriott Watson, Author of 'The Web
of the Spider.' Crown Svo. Buckram. 6s.
' By all those who delight in the uses of words, who rate the exercise of prose above
the exercise of verse, who rejoice in all proofs of its delicacy and its strength, who
believe that English prose is chief among the moulds of thought, by these
Mr. Marriott Watson's book will be welcomed.' — National Observer.

Gilchrist. THE STONE DRAGON. By Murray Gilchrist.

Croivn Svo. Buckra7n. 6s.

'The author's faults are atoned for by certain positive and admirable merits. The
romances have not their counterpart in modern literature, and to read them is a
unique experience.' — National Observer.

THREE-AND-SIXPENNY NOVELS

Edna Lyall. DERRICK VAUGHAN, NOVELIST. By
Edna Lyall, Author of ' Donovan,' etc. Forty-first Thousand.
Crown '6vo. 3^. 6d.

Baring Gould. ARMINELL : A Social Romance. By S.
Baring Gould. New Edition. Crown Svo. ^s. 6d.

Baring Gould. MARGERY OF QUETHER, and other Stories.
By S. Baring Gould. Crown Svo. ;^s. 6d.

Baring Gould. JACQUETTA, and other Stories. By S. Baring

Gould. Crown Svo. p. 6d.

Miss Benson. SUBJECT TO VANITY. By Margaret

Benson. JVitk mtme7-ous Illustrations. Second Edition. Crown

Svo. 3.f. 6d,
' A charming little book about household pets by a daughter of the Archbishop of

Canterbury.' — Speaker.
'A delightful collection of studies of animal nature. It is very seldom that we get

anything so perfect in its kind. . . . The illustrations are clever, and the whole

book a singularly delightful one.' — Guardian.

Messrs. Methuen's List 31

Mary Gaunt. THE MOVING FINGER: Chapters from the
Romance of Australian Life. By Mary Gaunt, Author of ' Dave's
Sweetheart.' Crowti Zvo. is. 6d.

' Rich in local colour, and replete with vigorous character sketches. They strike us

as true to the life.' — Times.
' Unmistak.-ibly po%yerful_. Tragedies in the bush and riot in the settlement are

portrayed for us in vivid colour and vigorous outline.' — If^'estininstey Gazette.

Gray. ELS A. A Novel. By E. M'Queen Gray. CrownZvo.
y. 6d.

J. H. Pearce. JACO TRELOAR. By J. H. Pearce, Author of

'Esther Pentreath.' New Edition. Crotv/t 8vo. ^s. 6d.

The Spectator ' speaks of Mr. Pearce as ' a luritcr of exceptional J'ower '; the 'Daily
Telegraph' calls the book "■ pcnverful and picturesque ' ; the ' Birmingham Post'
asserts that it is '« 7iovel of hi^li quality.'

X. L. AUT DIABOLUS AUT NIHIL, and Other Stories.
By X. L. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 35. 6d.

' Distinctly original and in the highest degree imaginative. The conception is almost
as lofty as Milton's.' — Spectator.

' Original to a degree of originality that may be called primitive — a kind of passion-
ate directness that absolutely absorbs us.' — Saturday Review.

' Of powerful interest. There is something startlingly original in the treatment of the
themes. The terrible realism leaves no doubt of the author's power.' — Atlien<ruin.

O'Grady. THE COMING OF CUCULAIN. A Romance of
the Heroic Age of Ireland. By Stan dish O'Grady, Author of
* Finn and his Companions.' Illustrated. Crown Zvo. y. 6d.

' The suggestions of mystery, the rapid and exciting action, are superb poetic eflfects.'

— Speaker.
' For light and colour it resembles nothing so much as a Swiss dawn.' — .'Ifanc/tester

Guardian.

Constance Smith. A CUMBERER OF THE GROUND.
By Constance Smith, Author of ' The Repentance of Paul Went-
worth,' etc. New Edition. Crown Svo. ^s, 6d.

Author of 'Vera.' THE DANCE OF THE HOURS. By

the Author of ' Vera.' Cro'Mji ?>vo. t,s. 6d.

Esm5 Stuart. A WOMAN OF FORTY. By Esme Stuart,
Author of 'Muriel's Marriage,' 'Virginie's Husband,' etc. New
Edition. Croivn 8vo. ^s. 6d.

'The story is well written, and some of the scenes show great dramatic power.' —
Daily Chronicle.

Fenn. THE STAR GAZERS. By G. Manville Fenn,
Author of ' Eli's Children,' etc. New Edition, Cr. Svo. 35. 6d.
' A stirring romance.' — IVestern Morning News.
'Told with all the dramatic power for which Mr. I'enn is conspicuous.' — Bradford

Obscmcr.

32 Messrs. M-ethuen's List

Dickinson. A VICAR'S WIFE. By Evelyn Dickinson.
Cyown %vo. 3^. (>d.

Prowse. THE POISON OF ASPS. By R. Orton Prowse.
Crown Svo. 35. 6d.

R. Pryce. THE QUIET MRS. FLEMING. By R. Pryce.

Crown 8z'0. y. 6d.

Lynn Linton. THE TRUE HISTORY OF JOSHUA DAVID-
SON, Christian and Communist. By E. Lynn Linton. Eleventh
Edition. Post Zvo. \s.

2/6

HALF-CROWN NOVELS

A Series of Novels by popular Authors

1. THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. By F. Mabel RoBiNSON.

2. DISENCHANTMENT. By F. Mabel Robinson.

3. MR. BUTLER'S WARD. By F. Mabel Robinson.

4. HOVENDEN, V.C. By F. Mabel Robinson.

5. ELI'S CHILDREN. By G. Manville Fenn.

6. A DOUBLE KNOT. By G. Manville Fenn.

7. DISARMED. By M. Betham Edwards.

8. A LOST ILLUSION. By Leslie Keith.

9. A MARRIAGE AT SEA. By W. Clark Russell.

10. IN TENT AND BUNGALOW. By the Author of ' Indian

Idylls.'

11. MY STEWARDSHIP. By E. M'Queen Gray.

12. A REVEREND GENTLEMAN. By J. M. Cobban.

13. A DEPLORABLE AFFAIR. By W. E. NoRRis.

14. JACK'S FATHER. By W. E. NoRRiS.

15. A CAVALIER'S LADYE. By Mrs. Dicker.

16. JIM B.

Books for Boys and Girls

A Series of Books by well-known Authors, well illustrated.
Crown ^r'O.

I THE ICELANDER'S SWORD. By S. Baring Gould.

2. TWO LITTLE CHILDREN AND CHING. By Edith

F OuTHKLL.

3. TODDLEBEN'S HERO. By M. M. Blake.

4. ONLY A GUARD ROOM DOG. By Edith E. Cuthell.

-3)6

Messrs. Methuen's List 33

5. THE DOCTOR OF THE JULIET. By Harry Colling-

WOOD.

6. MASTER ROCKAFELLAR'S VOYAGE. By W. Clark

Russell.

7. SYD BELTON : Or, The Boy who would not go to Sea.

By G. Manville Fenn.

The Peacock Library

A Series of Books for Girls by well-kuown Authors, \ /I

handsomely bound in blue and silver, and well illustrated, jt j r\
Crown Zvo. ^ \

1. A PINCH OF EXPERIENCE. By L. B. Walford.

2. THE RED GRANGE. By Mrs. Molesworth.

3. THE SECRET OF MADAME DE MONLUC. By the

Author of ' Mdle Mori.'

4. DUMPS. By Mrs. Parr, Author of 'Adam and Eve.'

5. OUT OF THE FASHION. By L. T. Meade.

6. A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE. By L. T. Meade.

7. HEPSY GIPSY. By L. T. Meade. 2j. bd.

8. THE HONOURABLE MISS. By L. T. Meade.

9. MY LAND OF BEULAH. By Mrs. Leith Adams.

University Extension Series

A series of books on historical, literary, and scientific subjects, suitable
for extension students and home-reading circles. Each volume is com-
plete in itself, and the subjects are treated by competent writers in a
broad and philosophic spirit.

Edited by J. E. SYMES, M.A.,

Principal of University College, Nottingham.

Crown Zvo. Price {with some exceptions) 2s. 6d.

The following' volumes are ready : —

THE INDUSTRIAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By PL de
B. GiBBiNS, M.A., late Scholar of Wadham College, Oxon., Cobden
Prizeman. Fourth Edition. With Maps and Plans, 3^.

'A compact and clear stor>' of our industrial development. A study of this concise
but luminous book cannot fail to give the reader a clear insight into the principal
phenomena of our industrial history. The editor and publishers are to be congrat-
ulated on this first volume of their venture, and we shall look with expectant
interest for the succeeding volumes of the series." — University Extension Journal.

34 Messrs. Methuen's List

a history of english political economy. by

L. L. Price, M.A., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxon. Second Edition.

PROBLEMS OF POVERTY : An Inquiry into the Industrial
Conditions of the Poor. By J. A. HoBSON, M.A. Second Edition.

VICTORIAN POETS. By A. Sharp.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By J. E, Symes, M.A.

PSYCHOLOGY. By F. S. Granger, M.A., Lecturer in Philo-
sophy at University College, Nottingham.

THE EVOLUTION OF PLANT LIFE : Lower Forms. By
G. Massee, Kew Gardens. IVith Illustrations.

AIR AND WATER. Professor V. B. Lewes, M.A. Illustrated.

THE CHEMISTRY OF LIFE AND HEALTH. By C. W.
KiMMlNS, M.A. Camb, Illustrated.

THE MECHANICS OF DAILY LIFE. By V. P. SELLS, M.A.

Illustrated.

ENGLISH SOCIAL REFORMERS. H. DE B. GiBBlNS, M.A.

ENGLISH TRADE AND FINANCE IN THE SEVEN-
TEENTH CENTURY. ByW. A. S. Hewins, B.A.

THE CHEMISTRY OF FIRE. The Elementary Principles of
Chemistry. By M. M. Pattison Muir, M.A. Illustrated.

A TEXT-BOOK OF AGRICULTURAL BOTANY. By M. C.
Potter, M.A., F.L.S. Illustrated. 35. 6d.

THE VAULT OF HEAVEN. A Popular Introduction to
Astronomy. By R. A. Gregory. With numerous Illustrations.

METEOROLOGY. The Elements of Weather and Climate.
By H. N. Dickson, F.R.S.E., F.R. Met. Soc. Illustrated.

A MANUAL OF ELECTRICAL SCIENCE. By GEORGE
J. BuRCH, M.A. With numerous Illustrations, y.

THE EARTH. An Introduction to Physiography. By Evan
Small, M.A. Illustrated.

INSECT LIFE. By F. W. Theobald, M.A. Illustrated.

ENGLISH POETRY FROM BLAKE TO BROWNING. By
W. M. Dixon, M.A.

ENGLISH LOCAL GOVERNMENT. By E Jenks, M.A.,
Professor of Law at University College, Liverpool.

Messrs. Methuen's List 35

Social Questions of To-day

Edited by H. de B. GIBBINS, M.A.

Crown %vo. 2s. 6d. ^

A series of volumes upon those topics of social, economic,
and industrial interest that are at the present moment fore-
most in the public mind. Each volume of the series is written by an
author who is an acknowledged authority upon the subject with which
he deals.

.16

The following Volumes of the Series are ready : —

TRADE UNIONISM— NEW AND OLD. By G. Howell,
Author of ' The Conflicts of Capital and Labour.' Second Edition.

THE CO-OPERATIVE MOVEMENT TO-DAY. By G. J.
HOLYOAKE, Author of ' The History of Co-operation.'

MUTUAL THRIFT. By Rev. J. Frome Wilkinson, M.A.,
Author of ' The Friendly Society Movement.'

PROBLEMS OF POVERTY : An Inquiry into the Industrial
Conditions of the Poor. By J. A. IIoBSON, M.A. Second Edition.

THE COMMERCE OF NATIONS. By C. F. Bastable,
M.A., Professor of Economics at Trinity College, Dublin.

THE ALIEN INVASION. By W. H. Wilkins, B.A., Secretary

to the Society for Preventing the Immigration of Destitute Aliens.

THE RURAL EXODUS. By P. Anderson Graham.

LAND NATIONALIZATION. By Harold Cox, B.A.

A SHORTER WORKING DAY. By H. DE B. GiBBlNS
and R. A. Hadfield, of the Hecla Works, Sheffield.

BACK TO THE LAND: An Inquiry into the Cure for Rural
Depopulation. By H. E. MoORE.

TRUSTS, POOLS AND CORNERS : As affecting Commerce
and Industry. By J. Stephen Jeans, M.R.I., F.S.S.

THE FACTORY SYSTEM. By R. CooKE Taylor.

THE STATE AND ITS CHILDREN. By Gertrude
Tuckwell.

WOMEN'S WORK. By Lady Dilke, Miss Bulley, and
Miss Whitley.

36 Messrs. Methuen's List

MUNICIPALITIES AT WORK. The Municipal Policy of
Six Great Towns, and its Influence on their Social Welfare.
By Frederick Dolman.

SOCIALISM AND MODERN THOUGHT. By M. Kauf-
man n.

THE HOUSING OF THE WORKING CLASSES. By R.

F. BOWMAKER.

Classical Translations

Edited by H. F. FOX, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Brasenose
College, Oxford.

Messrs. Methuen are issuing a New Series of Translations from the
Greek and Latin Classics. They have enlisted the services of some
of the best Oxford and Cambridge Scholars, and it is their intention that
the Series shall be distinguished by literary excellence as well as by
scholarly accuracy.

i^LSCHYLUS — Agamemnon, Choephoroe, Eumenides. Trans-
lated by Lewis Campbell, LL.D., late Professor of Greek at St,
Andrews. 55.

CICERO— De Oratore I. Translated by E. N. P. MoOR, M.A.,
Assistant Master at Clifton. 3^. 6</.

CICERO— Select Orations (Pro Milone, Pro Murena, Philippic li.,
In Catilinam). Translated by H. E. D. Blakiston, M.A., Fellow
and Tutor of Trinity College, Oxford. 55

CICERO— De Natura Deorum. Translated by F. Brooks,

M. A., kUe Scholar of Balliol College, Oxford. 3^-. ed.

LUCIAN — Six Dialogues (Nigrinus, Icaro-Menippus, The Cock,
The Ship, The Parasite, The Lover of Falsehood), Translated by
S, T, Irwin, M.A., Assistant Master at Clifton; late Scholar of
Exeter College, Oxford, y. 6J.

SOPHOCLES— Electra and Ajax. Translated by E. D. A.
MoRSHEAD, M.A., late Scholar of New College, Oxford ; Assistant
Master at Winchester, 2s. 6d.

TACITUS— Agricola and Germania. Translated by R. B.
TowNSHEND, late Scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge. 2s. 6ci,

Messrs. Methuen's List 37

Educational Books

CLASSICAL

TACITI AGRICOLA. With Introduction, Notes, Map, etc.
By R. F. Davis, M.A., Assistant Master at Weymouth College.
Crozvn 8vo. 2s,

TACITI GERMAN lA. By the same Editor. CrownZvo. 2s.

HERODOTUS: EASY SELECTIONS. With Vocabulary.
By A. C. LiDDELL, M.A., Assistant Master at Nottingham High
School. Fcap. %vo. is. 6d.

SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY. By E. D. Stone,
M.A., late Assistant Master at Eton. Fcap. 8vo. is. 6d.

PLAUTUS : THE CAPTIVI. Adapted for Lower Forms by

J. H. Freese, M.A., late Fellow of St. John's, Cambridge. I^. 6d.

DEMOSTHENES AGAINST CONON AND CALLICLES.

Edited with Notes, and Vocabulary, by F. Darwin Swift, M.A.,
formerly Scholar of Queen's College, Oxford ; Assistant Master at
Denstone College, Fcap. ?>vo. 2s.

GERMAN

A COMPANION GERMAN GRAMMAR. By H. DE B.
GiBBiNS, M.A., Assistant Master at Nottingham High School.
Crown 8vo. is. 6d.

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